


Priceless to Two

by K_iddo



Series: Worthless to One [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conversations with your alter-ego, Dealing with Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Fate, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Love, M/M, Mayor Cobblepot & Chief of Staff Nygma, Mental Health Issues, Organized Crime, Other-Ed, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 06:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: And then Edward is taking off his coat, he is leaving it on the ground, he is removing his glasses and leaving them on top of the coat, he is jumping into the freezing water himself, finding Oswald, dragging him out.





	1. Chapter 1

The gunshot startles him, as if it had not even been him that had squeezed the trigger at all, and the look of shock and pain on Oswald’s face seems to last for hours, the crinkle of his brow and the drop of his mouth. Ed’s glasses are covered with raindrops that obscure his vision, the cold is making his fingers numb, the whole thing feels like a bad dream.

So when Oswald’s hands clutch his own stomach, and the blood leaks between his fingers, Ed has to push the image away, has to push _him_ away, because he has never felt such a painful, awful sickness wash over him from head to toe as it does right now.

Oswald looks at him with that tearful desperation. The sound of the splashing water as his body breaches the depths makes Ed jolt, and he feels like he comes back into his body.

Other-Ed has fallen to his knees at the edge of the dock, quiet, for the first time, and shaking.

The blood mixes with the water, obscures Oswald as he sinks below the surface, into the depths, into nothingness.

And then Edward is taking off his coat, he is leaving it on the ground, he is removing his glasses and leaving them on top of the coat, he is jumping into the freezing water himself, finding Oswald, dragging him out.

He is ripping the sleeve from his own jacket and pressing against the gun shot wound, he is desperately begging Oswald to wake up as he drags him to the car.

Where is he driving? He isn’t sure anymore, but he can hear Oswald taking in raspy breaths in the back, and knows as long as he can hear that he has time.

His mouth still tastes like saltwater.

 _“You fucking stupid idiot.”_ Other-Ed is in the back, he is rubbing Oswald’s hair from his face and berating him as he stares at the road ahead. He sounds upset. It is getting dark, and it is still misty, his vision is obscured, but he still feels numb still, and the idea of swerving off the road and killing them both is better than…

 _“Living without him.”_ Other-Ed says, bitterly, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. Ed just tilts it so he doesn’t have to look at him anymore.

He tries to take account of his own breathing, he keeps catching himself holding it until he has to let out a long breath that shakes. Ed shot him, he _shot_ Oswald, he tried to kill him, he probably has killed him. His best friend. The man who told him he loved him and so clearly meant it with all his heart.

 _“You really can’t let us have anything can you?”_ That voice taunts from the back, deep, and angry, and disappointed.

“He killed Isabella.” It is the first time he has spoken since he started driving, his voice is wrecked, her name tastes bitter on his tongue. He is shivering too, his clothes are wet through and the car’s heat is doing very little to help.

_“You’ve mentioned that.”_

Ed squeezes the steering wheel and looks back over his shoulder. Oswald is still breathing, but completely unconscious, mouth open, face entirely white.

_“You killed Kristen, he killed Isabella, and now you’ve killed him. So, you don’t have anyone anymore. Congrats, excellent plan.”_

He still does not look back at the taunting apparition, just turns into his destination, the Van Dahl mansion. Empty, private, and stocked with fairly decent medical supplies.

His heart races when he opens the back door to get to Oswald.

Oswald is surprisingly easy to lift, light and small in his arms, but Ed cannot look at him just yet. The blood has soaked his shirt red, and he feels too limp.

If he’s dead…

The fire in the main parlour needs to be lit to warm up the room, but Ed knows he has no time for it, he has to make quick work of this procedure, and he is a flurry of movement as he sets Oswald down on the velvet chaises lounges and gets the equipment together to remove the slug from Oswald’s gut. It is best he stay unconscious for this, the whole thing is incredibly painful.

His hands move of their own accord, he can’t track his thoughts as he opens Oswald’s shirt and begins the long process of fishing out the bullet, cleaning the wound, stitching it shut. He knows how to put things together, he doesn’t have to be fully composed to be able to complete a simple procedure.

Once he is done, he removes the rest of Oswald’s wet clothes but leaves him his underwear, they are not as soaked through as the rest of his ensemble, and he remembers the first time he did this. Cleaning the dried blood from his alabaster skin and carefully bandaging the wound.

Oswald is built lithe all over, he doesn’t look closely at his exposed body.

Everything is different now. Back then, Ed had been in awe of Oswald, he had admired him and his work, he had wanted so desperately to be close to him that saving his life was the only thing that mattered in those days inside his studio apartment.

And, crucially, he had not been the one to shoot him then.

He pulls the last of the wrappings around Oswald’s slim waist, firmly attaches it with sticky gauze, and sits back on his heels, breathing properly again.

Oswald looks small and helpless, and Ed feels a lump form in his throat before he can process how that makes him feel.

The sound rushes back to his ears finally: the grandfather clock ticking in the corner, the rain against the window, and most importantly, the sound of Oswald breathing through his nose as he sleeps.

Ed looks at the clock, three hours have passed since he began, and he had barely registered any of it. It felt like minutes.

He is covered in blood. It streaks his glasses, blocks his view, he can feel it start to dry under his fingernails.

There is a basket of old, soft blankets behind the armchair, and he puts one over Oswald’s legs because the cold makes his leg pain worse.

Sitting on the ground staring at him is pointless, he has done all he can do.

And every time he looks at his face he remembers all the reasons he had dragged him to that dock in the first place.

‘You can’t do this.’ He can still hear Oswald cry.

Maybe he had just needed to prove him wrong. There, you don’t know everything, I could do it and I _did_ \- didn’t anticipate that, did you? - It didn’t feel like a victory.

Ed moves away from Oswald, leaves the room and heads up the stairs, he goes to his room and strips off his wet suit, leaving it in a heap on the ground, something that usually bothers him but that he cannot bring himself to care about in that moment. Goosebumps spread across his skin and he takes the time to observe that familiar room for a second.

After Arkham, the bedroom in the old mansion had felt every bit the luxury it was, large and spacious, a window overlooking the grounds. Oswald had put so much thought into everything, every little detail, picking a room that was quiet and peaceful, the opposite of the noise of the asylum, and picking up copies of books he had remembered from his time in Ed’s apartment.

Had Oswald loved him then? Ed doesn’t know. On his desk sit letters the two had worked on together, he can see his own handwriting with Oswald’s swirling signature underneath.

He passes it and goes into his bathroom, steps over the side of the bath, switches on the shower.

All he wants is to step under the hot water, let it warm his bones and wash away his best friend’s blood, wash away that whole fucking day. He has it a little too hot, the steam fills the bathroom.

_“What are you gonna do if you go back downstairs and he’s dead? Drive back to the dock and put rocks in his pockets and throw him in the water? Or pretend someone else did it? Cry at his funeral and let everyone feel sorry for you?”_

“Please be quiet.” Ed mumbles, putting his hands on the tile wall and resting his head on his forearms so the hot water runs down his back.

_“He’s still going to be there when you go downstairs. Dead or alive, you’re going to have to deal with him. If he does wake up I doubt he’ll be happy to pretend you didn’t shoot him and push him in a river.”_

Ed ignores him, closes his eyes and hopes he’ll just go away. He is so exhausted, the adrenaline has wrung him out and left him weak.

 _“Besides, I guess you found it easier to shoot him that to deal with those confusing things he made you feel.”_ Other-Ed says. _“Just like it was easier for you to convince yourself you wanted to be with Isabella than to face how good it was when Oswald looked at us with all that adoration.”_

“It’s _us_ now?” Ed snapped.

 _“When it comes to Oswald, yes. He saw us both, he saw what we have the potential to be and he goddamn loved us for it.”_ The voice of his other self went hard again. _“And you know we-“_

“Isabella loved me.” He says, and he hates that his voice sounds like a whimper, the other him laughs cruelly behind him.

 _“She liked you, she wanted to have you. But did she really know you? After a week? What kind of a child are you?”_ Other-Ed is perched on the back end of the bath, legs crossed and impatient. _“Besides, don’t you think her dressing up like your dead girlfriend was a little-"_

“Cruel.” Ed finishes before he can stop himself. “Manipulative.”

He doesn’t have to look back to see the expression of triumph on his alter-ego’s face.

“But she didn’t deserve to die.” Ed switches off the water abruptly and steps over the side of the bath, wraps his towel around his waist. “Oswald is a selfish, jealous psychopath. He cares more about himself than _anyone_ , including me.”

 _“We both know that’s not quite true.”_ He is followed into the bedroom as he dries himself and finds his comfortable clothes. _“Selfish, jealous psychopath, perhaps. But he was about to let Barbara kill him than give you up. He learned his lesson.”_

“That doesn’t matter!” Ed punches the bed after he pulls on the pyjama pants and turns to himself. “She’s still dead! He still killed an innocent woman to serve himself!”

 _“Come on,”_ Other-Ed grins in that smug, self-satisfied way, _“could you watch someone else touching_ him _? Kissing him? You rubbed it in his face, it was obvious how he felt about us. And buddy, don’t you remember Dougherty? That little visit we paid to him in the middle of the street? You’re a hypocrite.”_

“He was hurting her.” Ed shook his head. “He deserved it.”

_“Oh come on, you wanted to gut him the minute you found out he was with Kristen. Him turning out to be a bastard was convenient to your jealousy.”_

His stomach flips over and he shudders, and blames it on the coldness in the room. He doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t stop Other-Him.

_“Remember how we felt when he was recuperating in the apartment. He was all soft and sweet and pink-cheeked? We wanted to…”_

“Enough!” Ed pulls on his sweater and closes his eyes to his other self, but he is particularly persistent on this night, he sits on the bed beside him and speaks right next to his ear.

_“Tell me we don’t deserve to have someone love us like he does. He would do anything for us, and we would still do anything for him. That’s what we deserve. Devotion. Chemistry. You almost caught pneumonia diving in a frigid river to save him. He wants us and we want him and now we don’t have Kristen or her ridiculous doppelgänger standing in our way.”_

Ed lets out a noise between a huff and a growl, he can’t listen to it anymore, he leaves his room and slams the bedroom door closed behind him, and is glad to see the hallucination doesn’t follow. He had walked the halls of this ridiculously grand mansion so many times now, and he can remember so clearly all the occasions where that voice in his head had told him to just walk the other way down the hall. To Oswald’s room. Knock on the door and just pray he would invite him inside.

Now he knew, unequivocally, that he would have.

What would have happened if he had never gone to that liquor store? If he had never run into her and followed that old path that his mind knew would lead him to destruction and pain? What might have happened over that dinner with Oswald if he had just come home? If he had have just followed that impulse to go to Oswald’s room in the dead of night and do whatever it is he wanted to do?

 _“Anything, everything.”_ The voice in his head chimes but does not appear visually.

He is holding his breath as he steps into the main parlour again, but he can see Oswald’s chest steadily rising and falling and he releases that breath.

The room is vast and cold, and he walks by Oswald to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, he stacks it neatly. Five thick pieces of kindling, firelighters in between, a log, repeat. The flames rise quickly when he lights it and he closes his eyes at the feeling of the heat as it finally starts to spread.

He can convince himself none of this has happened if he tries hard enough. Just for a moment, he can exist in a reality where he had never met Isabella, had never taken Oswald to that dock, had never squeezed that trigger, and that they are still friends and colleagues that work together better than anyone he knows.

But Oswald lets out a small sound in his unconsciousness and brings him back to reality; Ed’s eyes open as he looks over his shoulder at him. He crawls over, kneels beside the chaises again and places two fingers against the pulse in Oswald’s neck. He is a little clammy, but his heart rate is steady. Infection would decide whether or not he got through this.

When he takes his hand back, his fingertips ghost one of Oswald’s prominent collarbones. He could say it was inadvertent, but it wasn’t, he’d wanted to touch one before and the impulse struck him again.

It is difficult to be remember to be angry with him while he watches him sleep, he looks pathetic and young, and innocent. He can so clearly remember his eyes shining with tears - desperation and heartbreak all over his face when he tells him he did it for love. That he did it because he loves him.

_“Probably doesn’t love us anymore, after trying to kill him and all. Vengeful little bastard, this one.”_

Ed picks up Oswald’s hand from his chest and holds it in his for a moment, considers it a little clinically. Pale, nimble fingers and prominent blue veins. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, he just wants to know how it feels, he supposes. His skin is a good, even temperature, even if his body is still a little sweaty after what it has been through. Ed puts Oswald’s hand back down.

_“He’s pretty, isn’t he?”_

He ignores that.

When he stands, his knees crack from being bent for so long, he spares a last glance before heading to the kitchen to make himself some tea. That is something he can do that doesn’t require to much mental energy, make some tea, calm himself.

 _“Personally, I’ve never been as into '_ pretty' _as you, I kinda like it when he yells. Even when you had a gun pointed at him, he had to bite, had to put up a fight.”_

Other-Ed is sitting up on the counter, grinning again, waiting for him, more persistent that he has ever known him to be. He finds his tin of lemon teabags where he left them in the cupboard, fills up the kettle with water and places it on the stove.

_“Having said that, he blushes nicely, I bet you could get that skin all red from head to toe. That would be a pretty sight.”_

“I don’t want to think about this right now.” The kettle whistles and he makes his tea, he enjoys the hint of bitterness from the lemon.

_“You’ve thought about it before though, remember? A few times. That little fantasy of him bent over that podium after his campaign speech, all desperate and incoherent? I can only imagine what that lovely ass would feel like in our hands."_

“Ugh.” Ed stomps out of the room, tea in hand, but is followed.

 _“Embarrassed? You were the one that thought that one up, not me. You really thought you were gonna ride off into the sunset and live a perfect little domestic life._ Librarian _wife, 2.5 kids? Bleugh, please. We’re not cut out for it - we don’t_ want _it. Imagine what we could do alongside Oswald, all that fire and power and ambition - unstoppable.”_

“SHUT UP!” Ed slams the parlour door shut behind him, breathing heavily and placing his back against it.

He should have just let Oswald sink, leave him for dead and try to find some way forward. Oswald doesn’t deserve his mercy, he is a bad person, a selfish, evil little-

“Ed?” His small voice carries across the room, and Ed has no time to think before he crosses over to stand in front of him. He’d sounded awake, but Ed can see that he is still out - his brow wrinkled, clearly in pain. Had he imagined him saying his name?

Oswald’s fingers twitch, and he whimpers. No, he’s dreaming, Ed had likely not imagined it. At least he wasn’t going crazy in that respect.

Ed is glad that Oswald hasn’t woken up, he shuffles back into a seated position and scoots so his back against the couch, blows on his tea. He is eye level with Oswald’s prone body, he finds his vision glazing as he stares in his direction.

He still has time to finish him off, he did him the kindness of not letting him bleed out and drown, being shot in the head in his own home in front of the fire was a rather gentle way to go. Or he could put a pillow over his face and suffocate him.

But he is absolutely kidding himself to think he could do that now. Before had been driven by pain and vengeance, and utter devastation that his best and only friend had betrayed him so cruelly.

That has passed, he is still angry, he still wishes Oswald was awake and healthy in front of him so he could slap his spiteful face again - the urge to see him dead though? That seemed to begin to thaw the moment he dragged him out of the frigid water.

Ed breathes in the smell of the old mahogany floor and sips his drink, draws his legs up under him. Why did you do this? He thinks as he looks at him. Why did you have to fuck this up for us both?

He can remember so clearly that day when Oswald had got him out of Arkham, sitting with him in the back of that ridiculous limousine and feeling his chest clench - he could not remember the last time a person had fought his corner so devotedly. The days and weeks in that place had turned into a viscous blur of noise and suffering, and then suddenly, he was out, watching the city go by through the tinted window, greeted by the very friend that had saved him.

Campaigning for mayor had made him even more vain, Ed has to smile to himself slightly when he thinks of how different he’d looked with his teeth freshly fixed and that harsh dryness moisturised from his skin.

It was probably just because Ed had spent so long with the unwashed inmates in that godforsaken place, but he could remember how good Oswald had smelled too, how the desire to bury his face in his chest and inhale had struck him.

And then, when Oswald had won the election on his own merits, and Ed told him he believed in him and Oswald looked like he were about to cry. Ed had wanted to kiss him then, he would have kissed him, if they were not in a room with other people. It was the first time it had happened to him in a long time, since college maybe, wanting to kiss a man, but it felt like the most natural thing to do at the time.

 _“Yet another occasion where me taking over would have been for the best.”_ Other-Ed sits on the floor too, but he rests his cheek against the same cushion as Oswald’s, puts his hand on his hair. _“I could care less what other people think, and I take things when I want them.”_

“I don’t want him.” Ed shakes his head, he has to say it out loud.

 _“I can think of several examples of that not being true.”_ Other-Ed turns to face him, back against the couch opposite. _“‘Oswald, I would do anything for you.’” He mocks. “That’s what you said to him, and you were just desperate for him to go in for more than a hug.”_

“Please-“

 _“Right here in this room, you scurrying off to bed hard as a rock and having to deal with it all by yourself.”_ Another bitter chuckle.  _"You only know how to deal with people who treat you like dirt for years until you wear them down enough to even look at you."_

Ed holds the mug tightly in his hand and thinks about throwing it across the room, but does not.

His legs start to ache, so he climbs up onto the couch and lays on his side, mentally and physically exhausted beyond belief. Oswald’s steady breathing and the crackle of the fire lull him to sleep.

When he awakes, he is sure he cannot have been asleep for more than five minutes, it is still dark outside. But the fire has almost completely died, the embers casting a dim orange glow across the room. Ed’s glasses dig into the side of his nose, and he removes them to rub out the dents with his fingertips. He can feel the chill again, and begins to groggily make his way to the fireplace before he realises what woke him up.

“Ed?”

Great, dreaming again. Ed ignores him and moves to collect more firewood from beside the fire.

“Ed?” That certainly sounds awake, Ed turns to look at him, and can just about see that Oswald is leaning up on one elbow, brow furrowed, looking confused. “Did you shoot me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kiss and make up, okay boys? What's a little jealous rage and murder between friends?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honesty hour.

Ed is rarely at a loss for words, but in that moment his mouth is so dry that he knows he would have trouble speaking even if he could think of anything to say. He was not expecting Oswald to wake up so soon, and as Ed leans down to switch on the table lamp, his stomach flips to see how quite awake he looks.

His eyes are bleary and he winces at even the dim light, but he’s lucid, and for once Ed has trouble reading his normally ultra-expressive face. 

Oswald’s mouth is set in a thin line, he looks up at him, (he always does look up at him, even when they’re both standing; Ed thinks of Oswald it’s with his chin up), and waits. 

“Well?” He is looking straight at Ed, voice even more reedy than usual.

Oh, of course, he had asked him a question, and Ed clears his throat and chooses to ignore it.

“I’m going to give you a sedative to put you back to sleep.” He reaches for the medical bag he had left discarded to one side. “You really shouldn’t be wasting your energy-“

“If you stick a needle in my neck again I swear I’ll kill you when I wake up.” Of course, Oswald _always_ has the energy to make a threat. When he attempts to sit himself up, he winces deeply, sharp nose screwed up, but once again Ed is in awe of his capacity to ignore his pain.

Ed is glad Oswald has snapped at him though, it makes it easier for him to start to build up that cold feeling that had deteriorated when he was asleep and silent. 

“You’re really in no position to be making threats, Oswald.” He says lowly. For once, Oswald shuts his mouth, finally getting his back up against the seat and resting a hand over the bandages on his stomach. 

It is quiet for a long moment, Oswald is examining the bandages around his waist and Ed puts down the medical kit. 

Everything they’ve done to each other, it hangs in the air between them, it’s almost suffocating, and it sets Ed’s teeth on edge. For a moment, he wonders if it’s unwise of him to turn his back on Oswald to relight the fire, but the man was having trouble sitting himself up, never mind sneaking up behind him and slitting his throat.

“Where are my clothes?” Oswald asks finally, voice low and quiet. Apparently the ‘did you shoot me’ question could wait for later - Oswald already knew the answer to that anyway. 

“Wet.” Ed says - ‘bloody’, he leaves out. 

The fresh logs on the fire catch quickly, he blows gently on the kindling to get it spreading. Oswald is half naked under the blanket, and Ed can see the shiver of his chin that he is suppressing, the room should be warmed up.  
  
Ed stands up straight and turns to face Oswald, but does not look him in the eye, his gaze fixes on the threadbare rug instead. He isn’t sure if looking at his face will make him want to hit him or fall to his knees and apologise. 

_“Oh, so you_ do _think he deserves an apology now? I can think of some things he might appreciate, to prove our regret.”_

“I’ll get you some clothes.” He says, and quickly crosses the room before Oswald can say anything else. 

His fingertips are buzzing as he makes his way up the creaking stairs, and he can feel his chest clenching. 

_“You’re relieved.”_ Other-Ed is waiting for him by his bedroom door. _“Me too.”_

“Why don’t _you_ care what he’s done?” Ed asks his darker self a question for a change, walking into his room to dig through his dresser. “You cared about Isabella too.”

_“Well, I wanted to fuck her, there’s a difference.”_ Ed scrunches up his nose at the vulgarity, shakes his head. _“I mean, I want to fuck him too, but it’s more than that.”_

“What does that mean?” He picks up a black sweater and finds a pair of loose grey sweatpants.

_“He’s a good match, an equal, probably the first one we’ve ever found. He’s smart and wily, apparently impossible to kill. I mean, I know where you’re coming from with all that rage towards him, I kinda wanna punch him in that defiant little face as much as I wanna shove my-“_

“Shut up.”

_“You asked.”_

Starting to feel uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck, Ed sits on the bed, puts his head in his hands and tries to just _think_ for a moment. He _is_ relieved, he can’t deny it, Oswald is alive, he hasn’t killed him, and it is the first time he has ever been pleased to fail at something. 

This is weakness on his part, he knows it is, if he were as strong as he wanted to be he would have had the guts to finish the job. Why _Oswald_? Why does he of all people have the power to do this to him?

_“Worthless to one,”_ Other-Ed leans on the dresser, lifts his finger and draws a lazy half crescent in the air, _“priceless to two.”_

 

*** *** *** 

Oswald swears he could hear Ed mumbling to himself when he went upstairs, with the house empty and quiet all sounds carry, but now it’s just silent.

Stomach tight, Oswald reaches down to touch the bandages gently, and knows Ed must have given him a strong painkiller, because he can feel barely more than a dull ache. He pulls the blanket up to his chin and looks around the room; it feels strange to be here, dreamlike, when hours ago he had been close enough to death to smell it’s breath. 

Ed shot him, he tried to kill him, and Oswald knows he should be finding a blade and following him upstairs - he has done the same, been driven into more violent rages for far, far less. He is on the precipice of it, he _is_ angry, but it is overpowered by his confusion.

_Why_ did Ed save him? One minute he had been begging for his life, he had felt the shot and looked in Ed’s face as he’d pushed him, and then: he was on his couch, his fire was roaring, Ed was finding him clothes, and wound had been bandaged so neatly it couldn’t be the work of anyone else. 

He can see it burned into the back of his eyelids still, that expression on Ed’s face when Oswald had reached for him. _Disgust_. His stomach flips when he remembers the sting when Ed had slapped his hand away. 

It’s what he deserves, he knows that. He can feel himself start to tear up, he feels awake and lucid, and the crushing reality of what he has done, how monumentally he has fucked everything up, it starts to press down on him. 

There was never a chance that Ed would want him, he knows that, but now Ed was only one step above wanting him dead. Friendship may have been torturous, but at least they were together. 

But, he _had_ saved him, perhaps there was enough of that Ed Nygma conscience left that couldn’t murder him so coldbloodedly, that cared about him just enough for that.

He knew Ed wouldn’t stick around, though. He would leave, and Oswald wouldn’t be able to stop him, and he would be left alone, again.

Saving his parents had been impossible, waiting for Jim Gordon to want to be his friend was as pointless as it was pathetic, and everyone else in his life was either a grudging colleague or a fearful subordinate. Friends, people he loved, they were rare and precious, and it was becoming inevitable that he lose them all.

It is his fault this time. He doesn’t feel guilty that the woman is dead, and it is impossible to pretend to himself that he does, because Oswald knows he was right, Ed would have killed her, or he would have torn himself down for her, and he could not have abided to see Ed’s potential snuffed out because of some desperation to recreate a catastrophically failed relationship with someone he had known a week.

It was for the greater good…

And it was for Oswald. More than anything else, it was for Oswald. 

Oswald knows he is selfish and vindictive, Ed had been right about all that, but he had been wrong to say that Oswald would sacrifice him to save his own neck. Anyone else, yes, he would, in a heartbeat, but _not_ Ed, _never_ Ed.

The tears break, and Oswald swipes at them with his hands. Crying is useless now.

With a sniff, he readjusts his leg on the couch, keeps it outstretched with his other bent under him. It’s almost worst than the gunshot, the way the cold water has affected his leg from knee to ankle.

Just as he is wondering if Ed has just slipped out and left already, he enters the bedroom, clothes in his arms. 

Oswald wishes his chest would stop clenching at the sight of him - he shot him for fucks sake - but the way he keeps his chin down and seems to have trouble looking at him triggers his impulse to comfort him.

Ed’s adam’s apple bobs when he hands him the bundle of clothes, and Oswald immediately recognises that they are not his own. It must have registered on his face, because Ed seems to notice at the same time.

“Oh, right, those are mine.” He says, tone ever so slightly apologetic. Oswald is quite glad Ed hasn’t been digging around in his bedroom.

“It’s fine.” It is important for him not to be difficult, he realises, so pulls the sweater over his head without complaint, with difficulty, and Ed does not offer to help. He tries to stretch his arms as little as possible, tugs it down over his stomach, glad to be covered.

The sleeves are too long, he has to roll them up to his wrists. Ed turns his back on him and looks out of the window at the breaking dawn as Oswald puts on the sweatpants, which are also far too long, so he cuffs the bottoms and pulls on the socks. 

All the clothes smell like Ed: clean and fresh, and that specific, impossible to define scent that was him alone.

This is the second occasion that Ed had seen every bit of Oswald without his knowledge, and it makes him insecure to think of how he might have judged his body. He can see him now - wrinkling his nose up in disgust at his scarred leg or other parts of him that would look less than impressive after being plunged in subzero water.

Ed hasn’t spoken still, and Oswald clears his throat. 

What the hell are they going to say to each other? What _could_ they say? Ed has his arms behind his back, he is clasping this wrist in his hand. Neither of them are speaking. And then it occurs to Oswald what he hasn’t said yet. He has begged for his life, confessed his love, but he has missed something quite important.

“I’m sorry, Ed.” He says, and he wishes he didn’t sound so weak. For a moment, he thinks Ed didn’t hear him because he does not respond, but then he turns around to face him.

“Why are you saying that?” He asks, and Oswald is taken aback by the question - isn’t it obvious?

“Because - because I am sorry, and I owe it to you.” 

Ed considers him for a long moment, and Oswald almost jumps when he abruptly sits beside him, puts his elbows on his knees and keeps his eyes ahead. Oswald has to turn slightly to face him, he shuffles away a little so they’re no where near touching.

“Would you be sorry if I hadn’t found you out?” He faces him, and Oswald swallows deeply, Ed’s eyes are serious and intense, Oswald feels like he’s using some kind of x-ray vision to scan the synapses of his brain for a lie. “If I’d gone on thinking it was an accident, would you have felt sorry, inside yourself?” 

‘No,’ Oswald thinks but doesn’t say, ‘probably not.’

“Or would you have just been happy that you’d won? Another victory for the Penguin.” Ed doesn’t sound angry, his tone is flat, sad, and Oswald stops himself from reaching for him.

Feeling a lump forming in his throat again and his eyes stinging, Oswald considers his thoughts carefully, he knows he will never get another chance to try and speak to Ed, so he cannot let pure emotion run his mouth.

Lying had never saved anyone he’d cared about before, so he would try honesty. 

“You’re right.” He says and Ed’s nostrils flare at the confession. “I wouldn’t have been sorry about her on my own. I would have been sorry that I hurt _you_ , that I caused you pain, but yes, I would have been glad to have you back again. To myself.”

Ed isn’t speaking, he is just looking at him, stone-faced, so Oswald takes his chance to talk.

“But I realised I didn’t really love you then, not the right way. I wanted to have you.” He licks his lips. “I’ve been beaten and hated and mistreated my whole life, and then you came along and you cared about me. The first time we ever met you saved my life, and you treated me with so much respect. I needed that.” Oswald swallows again, his throat feels sore. “So I craved it from you.”

Ed is looking at him, giving nothing away.

“But it was only when I was in front of Barbara and she gave me the option to get my revenge that I really started to love you the right way. I could look inside myself and honestly say that your life meant more to me than my own.” He says. “You were right, that’s what love is.”

He wishes Ed would give him some kind of indication that what he is saying is being heard, he continues to look him dead in the eye, but gives nothing away in his expression. 

If he could take his own heart from his chest and show Ed the truth written across it, he would, because he is not sure he has _ever_ been so sincere with someone as he is being now. Maybe he should get on his knees, grasp his calves, beg him to believe it. 

He would do that too, if he thought it would get him anywhere.

“It was when I brought her here, wasn’t it? That was when you decided to hate her.” 

Again, he strikes Oswald silent, he has a knack for that. He takes a steadying breath before continuing. 

“I was in love with you.” Is all he can say, and he knows Ed doesn’t want to hear it again, but it’s true.

“And you _didn’t want me._ Do you know what it’s like to feel that kind of pain, Ed?” His eyes are shining with unbroken tears again. “I thought nothing would feel like watching my mother get murdered, but then I saw you and her together and I just…” His voice breaks a bit. “I know it’s not a _normal_ reaction, okay? But it felt like you had stabbed me in the chest. It felt like you had brought her there specifically to show me how much I was everything you didn’t want.” 

He swipes at his cheeks, because he is crying, for christ’s sake, he can’t stop it.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I loved you, I didn’t know how to deal with it, I didn’t know how to swallow my pride and just let you be happy… But I do now.” He breathes in a shaky breath. “That’s why I’m not asking you to forgive me anymore. I know I deserve to be alone for this.”

Ed looks a little surprised at that, and Oswald looks down at his own fingers clasped on his lap. 

“Are you waiting for me to leave, Oswald?” Ed asks, and it is Oswald’s turn to be surprised. All he can do is nod like a child, like it’s obvious, he sniffs again. “I’m not going anywhere yet. We still have a lot to talk about.” 

And then, he stands up again, as quickly as he had sat, and Oswald is left to resist the urge to splutter: ‘What the fuck? Did you just hear me spill my guts to you? What the hell is going on?’ 

“You need to eat to keep your strength up. Do you want breakfast?” On reflex, Oswald looks at the clock, it is just before 6am. 

All he can do is nod again, he is ravenously hungry, actually, now that he pays attention to it. Ed moves to leave the room for the kitchen, but Oswald says his name, stops him.

“Can I - do you need some help?” Oswald asks. Though he cannot say it aloud, he feels a pull in his stomach to not be left alone. He feels fragile and delicate, and like he cannot face being left here, stewing in this emotion. Ed just nods wordlessly.

He moves to stand and winces at the sharp pain that goes through his gut when he does. A small noise leaves his mouth when he readjusts on the chaises lounge, putting his weight on his hand to push himself to his feet. When he feels Ed’s hands on his arm, he immediately flushes all over, and he knows his ears will be bright red. 

It’s surprise to feel contact at all more than anything else, more than the gentle touch, that makes him redden, and he allows himself to lean into it and let Ed help him to his feet. 

The taller man does not look at him when he releases his arm, but keeps a slow pace on the way to the kitchen in case he falls, doesn’t walk ahead. That alone makes Oswald want to start to cry again, he focusses on his shaky steps, hugs the wall as he walks to the kitchen.

His emotions are on a bloody knife’s edge, he feels fraught, he feels like a dam about to burst at any moment. 

From almost dead, to alive, to this - sitting at the kitchen table, watching Ed crack eggs into the bowl and mix them to a bubbly liquid, jumper rolled to his elbows, pyjama bottoms in the place of slacks. Oswald’s fingers fiddle with a few loose grains of pepper on the wood tabletop. He imagines being someone else standing in the doorway, looking at the two of them. A domestic picture, really, exactly like he’d wanted.

The wound stings, as if to remind him how false that picture is. 

When Ed sets him down a plate of scrambled eggs and brown toast and a strong coffee, he half expects him to leave the room, but again, he sits down across from him - Oswald is acutely aware that their knees are almost touching - and sets down his own plate and mug.

Oswald is cracking salt onto his eggs when he notices Ed watching him.

“What?” He has to ask.

“Nothing, just… I already salted that.” He says with a small shrug. Oswald frowns with a little confusion. 

“So? It needs a little more.” He continues, and he can see that little twitch in Ed’s jaw he recognises so well as irritation. 

“No, it doesn’t. You just put far too much salt on your food.” Ed says, very matter-of-factly. Oswald can feel the desire to petulantly continue to argue but chooses not to, just sets down the grinder and holds up his hands in a ‘there, happy?’ motion.

Ed seems satisfied, he starts to eat his own eggs, and he is as neat as he is with everything in his life. They had eaten around each other on a couple of occasions, but Oswald still has to fight the impulse to wolf his food, he’d always had a tendency to do that and knows it isn’t attractive. _‘Slow down!’_ He can hear his mother implore affectionally, _‘no one is going to take it from you, szeretett.’_

“Do you remember when we first met, back in my apartment?” Ed asks out of the blue, focussed on his food. 

“Of course.” Oswald says, and sips his coffee. He thought about it all the time, sleeping in his bed, sharing food together, even singing; he was angry with himself in hindsight that he had been too full of grief and vengeance to appreciate the intimacy of those days. 

“You were ready to leave Gotham forever, Galavan had destroyed everything you’d built and you wanted to quit, but then you didn’t.” His long fingers clasp his fork delicately. “Why didn’t you?”

Oswald had never really thought about it that hard before, but now, the answer is obvious. It’s literally staring him in the face.

“When my mother was killed I didn’t think I could ever be happy again, I thought even if I _could_ get my empire back it wouldn’t matter, because I still wouldn’t have anybody in my life that I really cared about.” Oswald sips his coffee, he’s starting to sound sentimental again and he can feel himself blush. “But then we were having a good time, we were singing and laughing… And I thought, huh, maybe I _could_ be happy again.” 

He sees Ed’s throat move with a swallow, and looks away from his neck and up to his face. God, he’s so handsome, Oswald isn’t sure there is a thing Ed could do to him that would make him stop noticing how beautiful he is. 

And, he seems to be listening, and Oswald swears, though he knows he could be deluding himself, that he can see softness there in his brown eyes.

“ _I_ made you think you could be happy again?” He asks, and in that moment he sounds exactly like he did when they first met, young and innocent and breakable.

“Yes.” Oswald answers simply, and he is telling the truth. 

*** *** *** 

Oswald spends the next week of his recuperation that follows waiting for the morning he would leave his bedroom to find Ed gone, and on each day he would be surprised to find him still there, checking on him, medicating him, cooking for him. It absolutely occurs to Oswald that he is being slowly poisoned, that this is some long-game, but he feels better gradually, and, maddeningly, he would take being slowly poisoned if it meant he got to keep seeing Ed every day.

They speak little, but keep having similar interactions to what they’d had in the kitchen, they would be eating together, or Ed would be giving him a shot to stave off infection, and he would ask him a question out of nowhere that Oswald would answer every time - because he was looking for supplication. 

‘Forgive me Edward, for I have sinned, it has been 15 hours since my last confession.’

He is in his bedroom, trying to arrange the papers on his desk so he can actually start working again at some point. His mayorship is holding on by a thread, and there is the matter of what to do with Barbara Kean for aiding in his capture. 

As far as his staff and the people of Gotham know, he is sick with the flu and will retake meetings when he is better. He’s fine for it to stay that way, for now, the whole thing feels less important now.

There is a soft knock on the door, and he invites Ed in. It can’t be anyone else.

“I need to change your dressings.” He says, waiting in the doorway, medical bag in hand. Oswald’s a little disappointed, he half hoped Ed was bringing some dinner, but knows he can’t mention it without sound like… well, a brat. 

“Oh, of course.” Oswald says, standing and taking the bag from his hands to set it on his large bed. “Should I sit or…”  
  
“Standing is easier.” Ed says, and Oswald thinks he can sense a little awkwardness, Ed’s long fingers rub together at his sides, an old tick from his more jittery days, and then they are standing together at the side of the bed, and Oswald feels that awkwardness spread to him too, like an infectious disease. 

There is a long quiet pause, the wind whistling through the window is louder than it had seemed when he was alone.

“I - you need to take your sweater off.” Ed says finally, and Oswald is embarrassed - that was clearly what he had been waiting for. 

‘No point standing on ceremony, he’s seen me naked twice.’ 

“Oh.” He knows his ears are burning red when he pulls the garment over his head, and he doesn’t need to look down at himself to confirm the blush has spread to his chest as he drops it on the bed. 

He lifts his arms to let Ed begin to unravel the existing bandage, unsticking the gauze and then unwrapping it from around his waist, over and over. It is a relief, the lack of tightness around his stomach, but it is replaced by the uncomfortable twisting in his gut to have Ed so close, back bent and essentially wrapping his arms round him when he needs to. Can Ed not feel it? Does he not feel this heat? The crackling in the air? 

‘No, he doesn’t.’ He tells himself. ‘That’s exactly what got me in trouble before, thinking that he felt it.’

Oswald knows it is his attraction to him flaring back up, but there is nothing he can do to help being drawn in to the heat of his proximity - physical and otherwise. He can smell him at this proximity, can feel his body heat. 

When he gets to the last loop, Ed’s knuckles brush just above his naval, and Oswald feels the muscles twitch there, purses his lips to fight making some kind of humiliating noise.

He isn’t looking at Ed’s face, his gaze flutters somewhere between the knot of his tie and his chin, so he has no idea if he is looking at him. 

“I’ve been thinking about that day on the docks.” Ed says, and Oswald almost jumps at the sound of his voice cutting through the air, he looks up at him then, but Ed is focussed on his work, wrapping new bandage round his stomach. Did he mean _just_ now? Oswald feels like he thinks of it whenever he closes his eyes.

“I could have shot you in the head, or in the heart, but I didn’t, I shot you here.” His fingers gently brush across the fresh material, and Oswald flinches imperceptibly. Ed sounds pensive, like he’s talking to himself more than him, almost.

Oswald doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but he keeps his mouth shut and listens.

“And then I jumped in after you anyway.” He laughs a little bit, as if in disbelief. “And I’ve been trying to figure out what that means for _days_ , but the answer is so obvious.” Attaching the last of it with sticky gauze, he looks Oswald in the eye. “I didn’t _really_ want you dead, I wanted to give myself the option to save you.”  
  
Oswald realises with a hitch of his breath that Ed is tearing up, he looks like he is about to cry. 

“Ed-“

“No, let me finish.” He says, and sniffs, shaking his head. He has not stepped out of Oswald’s personal space. “I’m _so_ _angry_ at you, Oswald, if you had just told me how you felt before I met Isabella maybe I could have - I _know_ I could have-“

“What?” Oswald cannot stop himself from grasping Ed’s wrists, he’s magnetised to him, his heart is racing all of a sudden. “Could have what, Ed?”

He sees a tear run down Ed’s sculpted cheek and drip off his chin, his chest clenches at the sight.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Ed shakes his head, gently takes his wrists from Oswald’s grasp. “It’s too late.”

“Please, please Ed. Just tell me what you were going to say.” Oswald tries not to turn into a crying desperate mess again. He feels dizzy.

When Ed does not respond or look at him, a tortured expression on his face, he reaches for him again, his hands sink into the front of his shirt and he feels the tears prick his eyes. He expects to be shoved away but isn’t.

“Get off me.” Ed’s voice turns to a growl, but still makes no attempt to throw him off. Oswald shakes his head, and Ed grabs it, making him let out a whimper of surprise at the contact. Ed is holding him fast, his fingers tangle in his hair and tug a little, his neck his arched up.

He is looking him in the eye now, nostrils flaring in anger, maybe something else, Oswald has no idea, logic has no place in his racing thoughts. They’re just sharing breath, neither willing to release the other. 

And then:

“I could’ve loved you back.” He says, finally, his voice little more than a whisper, and Oswald isn’t sure if he feels his heart break or swell. His eyes slip closed, he nods understanding in Ed’s hold. 

Their bodies are pressed together now, they have _never_ been this close, and Oswald is acutely aware of his shirtless-ness, body heated by Ed’s own. 

God, it is messed up how hard it is to decide if he’s more heartbroken or aroused, he’s certainly hot all over, tingling.

“You still can.” Oswald says, pleads it, and Ed seems to shake his head as if on a reflex. His neat hair has come a little loose, it hangs over one eye, and Oswald wants to touch that perfect face, whether it would get his hand bitten off or not. 

The taller man is full of passion, it burns in his eyes, and Oswald can not bring himself to feel afraid, not with him so close. “Ed, please.”

Oswald stands on his tiptoes, and waits to be pushed away, and is not, he puts a hand on the back of Ed’s head and finds no resistance there either, when their noses touch and they share breath, Ed does nothing, and when Oswald presses his lips against his, he holds himself tenseand prepares to be thrown off.

Nothing, he presses harder, lost in the sensation that Ed’s lips are exactly as soft and plush as he’d always thought they’d be. Ed breaths a harsh breath through his nose and Oswald feels it ghost across his cheek, and the hand in his hair loosens and instead wraps around his waist to pull him higher and tighter. Ed shudders, he feels it, and he feels the little noise in his throat because it reverberates against Oswald’s lips.

Heat unfolds low in his stomach. His injury burns in protest, and he ignores it. 

There is no helping the whimpering moan that slips out of his mouth against Ed’s lips, and that seems to bring him back to reality. Ed breaks apart from him, panting, and releases his waist. 

Oswald almost falls when Ed lets go of him. His legs feel weaker than usual, he notices that his hands are trembling, and he hopes Ed can’t see how hard he is. It’s part of the reason he can’t think, there’s no blood left in his head. 

“Ed-“

Ed wordlessly holds up a hand, sharply, to tell him to shut up. He is looking past Oswald somewhere, mouth slightly open, expression unreadable but something close to shocked. Not disgusted though, not repulsed by what had just happened. His cheeks are pink, his lips already swollen. Oswald desperately wants to kiss him again, wants to do anything and everything he’s thought about for months.

Turning on his heel, he leaves the room in three large strides and shuts the door behind him sharply, leaving Oswald wondering if that had really happened at all. 

Unable to stand up any longer, he sits himself on the bed far more unceremoniously than intended and hurts his freshly bandaged injury again. It doesn’t matter though, he brings a shaky hand to his forehead and realises he is sweating, and when he licks his lips he can still taste Ed’s mouth.

He looks at he spot they were standing, and an incredulous little laugh bubbles from his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments and the kudos, it honestly means a lot, I absolutely love writing these characters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is chapter is super NSFW, lads.

Ed practically throws himself face first down onto his bed, presses his face into the pillow and squeezes it in his fists. He wants to scream, his body is trembling and he hates, _hates_ being unable to actually follow his thoughts - his mind is racing too much for him to focus. And he’s hard, uncomfortably so; he pushes his hips against the bed for some kind of relief.

 _“That’s not gonna do it.”_ That voice says with a little amusement, and Ed groans into the material in frustration.

A picture reel runs through his head, and it’s all Oswald: the first time they actually met in the GCPD office, when he had eyed him with disdain and told him to step away - asleep in his bed and muttering - beaming up at him after winning the election - uncompromising as he stares down a room of criminals twice his size with no fear or hesitation - furious and full of fire when he saves him from Butch’s stranglehold.

Kissing him, grasping his shirt, moaning into his mouth. Kissing him like he’s still in love with him, kissing him like he always will be. Ed has turned over onto his back and is frantically opening his fly before he has a chance to think about stopping himself.

 _"What are you doing?”_ He closes his eyes and ignores the voice, takes his dick in his hand, feels the precum leak down his length and shudders with relief. _“Just get in there and fuck him! He wants it so badly, the look on his face. He’ll do anything you want. He’ll suck your cock for hours if you ask him to.”_

Ed pumps himself in hand a few times, he can’t remember the last time he was so hard he needed to deal with it straight away, and all he can see is Oswald, doing exactly what his darker impulse suggests.

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself, frowning, wishing he could push the image of him away. It isn’t right, a week is not enough time for a kiss to be enough to make him want him or forgive him.

But he can’t see anyone else, no one else will do right now.

 _"It was just like we imagined. He was shaking, so desperate to be touched, so hot and soft against our body.”_ Ed is caught up; he twists his hand a little, jerks himself quicker. _“Apart from his cock, I bet he didn’t even know we could feel it, pressed up, rock hard.”_

Ed bites his lip, and pictures that face, his bright eyes looking up at him, and he can imagine how much he would quiver if he touched him like he wanted to be touched. He wonders if he would blush all the way down his chest, wonders just how much he could get him to moan and whimper.

He can feel it building already, the heat unfolding low, and he focusses on the sensitive tip of his cock for a second, making his body twitch and a little sound escape his mouth.

_“Wouldn’t have to touch him for more than a second before he’d be coming all over. I bet he’s loud, I bet he’d beg.”_

And Ed can hear it: ‘please, Ed.’

He’s almost there, any second he’s going to finish. He wonders if Oswald is doing the same in his room, thinking of him in return.

 _"Call him in. Ask him to swallow it.”_ Ed moans aloud at the image, and doesn’t care. _“Ask him to bend over so we can fill that ass up.”_

“Jesus - _ah -_ ” Ed comes hard and copiously over his own fist, his back bends forwards, he jerks his cock frantically to drag it out, until he’s too sensitive to keep touching himself and has to release it. He can see white behind his eyes, and still Oswald’s face. “Fuck.”

His spine relaxes like a snapped elastic band and he falls back into his pillows, heart racing, pulse hammering in his neck. He’s panting, eyes open and fixed on the ornate detailing on the ceiling. As much as his body has relaxed, he still feels mostly unsatisfied.

_"Because you just wasted all this on your suit.”_

Skin hot all over, he sits up and looks down at himself. He has indeed made a total mess off the front of his trousers and a little bit of his tie and shirt.

He wants to feel embarrassed, usually he has far more self control than this, but he supposes Oswald keeps proving to be the exception to his every rule, why should this be any different?

Standing, he strips off the suit, bundles it up and throws it in the hamper. He feels too post-orgasm relaxed to try and figure out what any of this means, and perhaps it doesn’t matter. 

Bodies react to stimuli, Oswald kissed him, pressed up against him, it doesn’t mean that-

_“Oh, sure.”_ Other-Ed is lying back on the bed. _“Like anyone has been able to get you to blow your load_ that good _without even being in the same room as you.”_

Ed ignores him, he has no answer because he isn’t wrong, and as he makes his way to the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth like any other evening, he thinks about what had transpired between him and Oswald. He looks at his reflection, and obviously finds it grinning at him as he brushes his teeth.

_“Remember after we buried Kristen? How relieved and alive we felt? Don’t you feel that right now?”_ Other-Ed asks. _“It’s always been him Ed, guiding us into the future, making us feel excited and powerful and_ right _. This needed to happen.”_

He tries for a moment to muster up even 10% of that anger he had felt when he found out what Oswald had done, but it’s fruitless. Ed had his revenge, even before he shot him, he made him believe he was going crazy, almost destroyed the mayorship they had both worked so hard to build. 

They had fucked each other over so badly. 

And Oswald still kissed him, and Ed still wanted him to. 

*** *** *** 

Oswald dresses himself the next morning, and though he still aches and does not feel as strong as he wishes he did, it’s nice to feel like he looks like himself again. He picked out a suit he had been a little loathe to wear in the past - more fitted and paired with a black shirt instead of white. It feels less traditional than his usual style, but honestly, he thinks he looks pretty good.

Ideally he would take more time to recuperate, but Barbara’s grab for power had been too close to comfort, and it is vital he show his face to his people, remind them who the boss is.

The only people that know what had happened between him and Ed were the two of them, Barbara, Tabitha and Butch; as far as anyone else is concerned, Oswald is still the king, he is still the mayor, and Ed is still his loyal chief of staff.  
  
The cat is in the bag and the bag has been dragged from the river.

Scooping some gel onto the tips of his fingers, he considers his reflexion for a moment. He feels like he looks older, as if this week alone has aged him, but he doesn’t dislike it. In fact, he decides that dunk in the water could be a rebirth, a baptism of salt that would leave him changed for the better, if he so chose. He had been choosing his own path for years, carving it out with his nails if need be, this is no different. 

Because as much as he feels for Ed, as much as he now knew it would be impossible for him to let go of all love for the man, he is now also fully aware that what he thought was his unassailable position was as easily ruined as screwing up a piece of paper. If Ed had let him die, Barbara would be queen, and he would have been forgotten in time.

‘Ed and I, both stronger for it.’ He thinks, and pushes his hair back for a change, away from his face.

Now, the true faces of those who would oppose him are shown, and he would show them why exactly he is king, and how much they could never, ever measure up to him. 

It is a nice distraction from the kiss, planning out his next moves, but it still keeps coming up, the feeling of Ed’s arm round his waist and their lips finally pressed together. It still makes his cheeks flush to think of, but he is fully aware that he could find Ed downstairs with his icy barrier entirely reaffirmed. He had spent what felt like hours pacing up and down in front of the door, trying to walk off his arousal and the desire to go to Ed’s room and finish what they’d started.

He straightens his jacket and picks up his cane where it rests by the door. 

He’s nervous, it’s making his stomach tingle; he isn’t sure if he could handle Ed looking at him with any kind of repulsion after what had happened. 

But his people are on the way, Zsasz and some of the heads of family, and he prepares himself to appear stately and unfazed.

When he enters the dining room, he finds Ed eating his own breakfast and reading his newspaper, and can see a plate prepared for himself. Is he supposed to _not_ feel his heart swell at that sight? Ed looks up at him when he comes in, and the little double take he cannot suppress makes Oswald feel incredibly smug. 

‘I _do_ look good, damnit.’ And he’s trying to convince himself, he knows it. It is difficult to spend your life being called pointy-nosed and scaly-faced without feeling a _little_ insecure. 

He sits in his chair, pretends not to notice Ed watching him, and pulls his napkin over his lap.

“Oswald you look - you’re dressed.” Ed says, and his eyes quickly look him up and down.

“I am.” Oswald says with a slightly amused smile. “As much as I have enjoyed spending my life in knitwear and sweatpants I can hardly greet the underworld in them.”

He begins to spread a healthy amount of raspberry jam on his toast, he and Ed are clearly _not_ talking about the night before, and he’s torn between being glad and disappointed. 

“You’re calling a meeting today?” He asks with a small frown. “Why was I not informed?”

Oswald is taken aback by Ed’s ever so slightly insulted tone.

“I just assumed that you might not want - that is to say that you and I wouldn’t -“ He clears his throat, he truly hates stammering. “After everything that happened, I assumed you would be leaving, now that I’m better.”

Ed sets down his fork with a bit of a clatter, and it’s Oswald’s turn to confusedly frown. 

“Oh.” Ed says and begins to stand. “I wasn’t aware that you were waiting for me to go.”

Is he offended? Oswald feels himself scrambling up before he can try to look less desperate, Ed isgetting ready to leave the room, Oswald catches him by the wrist and knows he is pushing it, but can’t stand to just let these things go with him.

“What’s on earth is the matter?” He asks, looking up at him. “I am very grateful for your care this past week, but I do not think it insane of me to assume you wouldn’t want to work together anymore after all that’s happened.”

Ed’s mouth opens for a second then closes, he looks torn, glances at Oswald’s mouth before his eyes. He catches it, tries to hold firm.

“You didn’t ask me.” He says. “If I would like to stay.”

“And what would your answer be, Ed?” Oswald releases Ed’s wrist when he realises he’s still holding it, keeps his jaw firm. “‘ _Yes, all is forgotten, let’s pick up where we left off’?_ I’m not so naive.”

Oswald sees his adam’s apple bob behind his collar, and he can’t deny that he gets a little pleasure out of striking Ed quiet for a change. 

The taller man tugs on the bottom of his sweater, sets his face straight. 

“We don’t have to like each other to work together.” He says flatly, and Oswald bites back his hurt. 

“Fine.” Oswald says. “I agree, we don’t have to like each other.” 

Ed nods and seems satisfied with the discussion; Oswald is not.

“But we need to trust each other, and I fear that the days of you trusting me are long gone.” He wishes he had picked up his cane when he stood, his leg hurts and there’s nothing for him to lean on. “And I have to say it may take a little more time for me to forget the shot to the stomach, the push in the river and the desecration of my father’s remains.”

At least Ed has the decency to look at a little guilty at the mention. Oswald was done pretending all that hadn’t happened, Ed is clearly as skilled at revenge as he is.

“That being said, perhaps we have done the worst we can do to one another.” Oswald feels melancholy and resigned. “Perhaps there’s no where to go but up.” 

“Perhaps.” Ed says, and he looks sad too, and Oswald wishes he had drunk his coffee before having this conversation. “I should get dressed, I am your chief of staff, after all.”

Oswald can only nod, and watch Ed leave the room; he eats his breakfast alone.

*** *** *** 

Ed finds himself fighting the urge to mumble under his breath as he stomps upstairs; he’d hoped seeing Oswald in the light of day would be helpful, that it would help erase the memory of the night before, but goddamn it, goddamn _him_ , it’s made it worse.

_“Mm, where has he been hiding those suits?”_ He pulls his sweater over his head and dumps it in the hamper, starts to look through the wardrobe for something smart and professional. 

Seeing Oswald come down all back to normal, all dark colours and spicy cologne and pristine, it made it much, much worse. 

_“Not totally back to normal, he’s doing his hair different. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was trying to impress someone.”_

The hair is the worst part, at least before it had obscured his face and looked vaguely ridiculous, now it - doesn’t. Still ostentatious and eccentric and _Oswald_ , but it makes Ed wonder why he hadn’t done it before, showed off how attractive he is. 

_“And I know I keep bringing it up but… spectacular ass.”_

He lays his suit neatly across the bed and goes to the bathroom to quickly wash his face and fix his hair; when he’s done, he sets his glasses neatly on his nose, surveys his reflexion. 

_“You look great, he’s obsessed with us anyway.”_

God, his darker self has been needling him a lot lately, emotional distress always exacerbated it. But it isn’t bothering him so much this time, because he knows he needs to address the things he brings up, because it _is_ _him_ , after all. 

Ed’s glad they are working together, no point denying it, before all this had happened he was on the precipice of moving forward, of finding a way to fulfil his dark desires and to prove to Gotham that there was no one who could match or beat his intellect.

He needs Oswald for that, if he were dead a bloated watery corpse right now, Ed wouldn’t have anybody to guide him. Oswald is a lot of terrible things, but he’s the best at this villain business than anyone he’s ever heard of, an expert at operating in plain sight and knowing no one would stop him. 

_“And that is very, very hot.”_

It would be helpful if Ed could get his mind of his dick for a moment though, it keeps insisting on stirring in his pants when he focusses on those things about Oswald he likes best. 

The men and women of various importance arrive not long after Ed emerges from the bedroom in his deep green suit, and it is almost strange how quickly he and Oswald fall back into their old routine; Oswald sits in his place at the head of the table, Ed stands at his shoulder, takes mental notes, whispers in Oswald’s ear when he needs to. 

It throws Ed off, other people in the house. He hadn’t noticed how used he’d gotten to seeing no one else but Oswald. The meeting is more about showing everyone that he is still around, alive and in charge, and to keep himself abreast of goings on. He still hits the roof in a second when someone displeases him, and Ed often has to fight the smirk off his face while others desperately tried to avoid his eye-line. He’s holding back just a little though, not really screaming at anyone too terribly, he _is_ concealing a gunshot wound that he could not risk rupturing. 

When they all leave, Ed feels relieved, as entraining as it had been to see Oswald in action, there is a peace to it just being the two of them alone again, and when Oswald suggests calling Olga so that she can return to her duties, he almost says no - almost tells him that _he_ likes cooking for the two of them. 

But he knows that sounds -because it _is -_ far too domestic. It sounds like they’re…

_“Boyfriends?”_

He pushes his glasses up his nose as he watches Oswald shuffle around the kitchen, puts a cloth bag of lavender scented wheat in the microwave that he would rest on his sore leg when it was hot enough. Ed almost tells him to sit, that he will do it for him. 

_“Husbands?”_

Ed remembers that they had agreed they did not even need to like each other to make this work, and Oswald is now well enough to take care of himself.

He doesn’t need to be standing in the kitchen with him, he should go back to his room - go back to his _own apartment_ even - and leave him to it.

"I believe that went quite well, as much as the Ricci's are bothering me, they've got such old fashioned ideas about how the business works." He leans himself against the counter, he's watching the microwave turn rather than looking Ed's face as he speaks. Oswald does this a lot, goes off on his little rants, usually sloshing a glass of wine around as he does. Ed missed it while Oswald was out of commission, it was one of those little mannerisms he had never noticed he liked so much until he was faced with the prospect of never seeing it again. 

"If I was dead they would have turned their backs on me in a heartbeat, kissed Barbara's ring and forgotten they'd ever been loyal to me." His nose is screwed up when he leans his back against the counter and Ed can see his face again. So petulant. "I want them watched, if you wouldn't mind arranging that."

"Of course." Ed nods, he doesn't need to note it down, he will remember. 

Now they're alone again, going back to work talk feels a bit more odd after the long emotional confessions, but it has to be done if they're ever going to move forward. Ed likes watching Oswald scheme though, he seems most in his element when he sketches out his machiavellian plans, and it pleases Ed to help him figure out how to put them in motion. 

They work symbiotically, on a level of silent mutual understanding that was apparently impossible to kill. It had been that way since they'd killed Mr Leonard together, a bloody, macabre beginning to their dark and fruitful partnership. 

It starts to dawn on Ed what keeps pulling him back to Oswald, what's making him stay in this kitchen with him and what made him jump into that freezing water to drag him back out. He feels seen by him. Oswald has looked dead in the face of his dark impulses and not flinched for a second. 

“I need fresh air.” Oswald takes the steaming bag from the microwave. “Would you like some tea in the garden?” And he looks a little insecure, like he might be pushing this friendliness too far. Ed catches him holding his hands in fists at his sides, he likely doesn't even know he's doing it, but Oswald has never been able to hide his tension, it wraps his whole body tight from top to bottom. 

‘No.’ He knows he should say. ‘Stay away from me.’ But the thought is weak, and performed. 

“Sure.” 

And then they’re in the garden, Oswald has brought out a chintzy, delicate tea set and they sit not far from the doors of the conservatory at an old wrought iron table. Oswald is on a bench, back against the arm rest so he can elevate his leg and lay the bag over it. 

Ed keeps his lips pursed when Oswald puts far too many spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, focusses instead on the falling leaves that cover the great green lands of the estate. It’s a little bit too chilly to sit outside, but he doesn’t mind so much, he always had preferred the cold and knows Oswald does too.

“First order of business, taking over the Sirens. I have a lot of plans for that place.” He sips his tea, and Ed knows the man would prefer a whiskey, but cannot let it interfere with his pain medication. 

“It’s about time I made myself a place in the city I can work from, my current locations are too dated, the club is a perfect base of operations. I’d appreciate if you could find me a decent interior designer, a discrete one, of course, I can’t wait to do away with that tacky decor as soon as possible." He waves his hand dismissively. "I’ll need an office, of course, and the bar staff will have to be checked and rechecked. I still want purple in there, but it needs a different colour scheme, something a little more crisp and fresh… Ed? Are you listening to me?”

No, Ed is not listening to him, because apparently a brief if heated kiss in a highly intense moment is enough to turn his brain into a useless mush that can do little more than watch Oswald’s lips when he talks and enjoy the way his trousers stretch over his thigh when he elevates his leg like that. 

_“Seeing him back in action has really done it for me. 5’5 and a voice like a kid in his early 20’s and he’s got them all pissing their pants, desperate not to anger him._ That’s _what we need.”_

It’s nice to see him _not_ crying, Ed realises that he much prefers him happy, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight that realisation: the tea tastes good, it’s a perfect Autumn day, he feels close to good for the first time in weeks.

Ed’s talking before he’s even figured out what he’s going to say.

“I don’t know how well you remember, Oswald, that time we spent in my apartment after I found you in the woods. It was just after I had killed Miss Kringle, and I was going through somewhat of a… transformation.” He knows this is coming out of nowhere, Oswald hasn't had a window into the thoughts that have been kicking around his mind all day. 

Oswald looks like he isn’t sure why he’s changing the subject, but Ed needs to talk out loud, to reason out his thoughts for the both of them.

“I was looking to you for guidance, I’d followed your career from the beginning, I was a fan.” He laughs a little out of his nose at the silliness of it in hindsight. “I thought it was fate that we found each other that day, and the more time goes on the more sure I am that it was.”

“I’m surprised someone with your logical mind believes in fate.” Oswald says, voice a little quiet. He’s listening closely.

“Me too.” Ed tracks the fall of a deep red leaf from branch to ground. “But I also believe in patterns, symmetry. Miss Kringle died so I could start on the path to becoming myself… Maybe Isabella died so I could continue on it.”

Oswald swallows, Ed can tell he’s struggling to see where he’s coming from, and to see if he really means what he's saying. He’s not sure he knows himself where he’s going with this. 

For once, he’s saying how he’s feeling to a living, breathing person rather than - 

_“A figment of your imagination? Now that’s hurtful…”_

“People outside our world… They’re not fit for it, they don’t understand it. They can try but they don’t really _know_.” Ed looks at Oswald, sees those bright eyes watching him from where he’s sitting. “They don’t really know _us_. Your mother never really knew you.”

Upset crosses Oswald's face at the mention of her, he glances down and purses his lips.

“No, she didn't." He shakes his head regretfully. "You said ‘we’re better of unencumbered.’” He looks like he remembers everything about that time that Ed did.

“And now I am.” Ed says. "Unencumbered." He realises that he feels like he did after he’d buried Kristen - not as sad as he should be, eager to move forward, and he knows that if he told _anyone_ else this they would tell him how wrong it is, how sick and cold and crazy. Not Oswald though. 

“I understand if you need to move forward on your own.” Oswald says, and Ed realises he thinks he’s talking about him (narcissistic little shit that he is), and his eyes are downcast to the cup in his hand, that happy look has washed away.

“You’re not listening to me, Oswald.” Ed shakes his head and sets down his tea on the table.

“Yes I am.” He argues with a small frown.

“No you’re not, you’re hearing but you’re not _listening_.” Ed stands up, and then sets himself down next to Oswald’s outstretched leg. The smaller man shuffles in his seat at the proximity, looks confused and guarded.

“I need you to guide me still.” He says, and he almost wants to grab Oswald’s hand. “Because you do understand me, you _see_ me, and I can’t do all the things I want to do without you.” 

_“Carry on.”_ Other-Ed's voice speaks in a whisper. 

“I don’t _want_ to do those things without you.” And then he does take Oswald’s hand, because he wants to.

Oswald looks down at the contact like he’s been stung, but doesn’t pull his hand away. He sits up a bit straighter so they’re closer together, and Ed becomes more aware that he is essentially sitting between Oswald’s legs.

“What are you saying?” Oswald asks, looks at his pale hand in Ed’s. It makes Ed’s chest clench, that vulnerability. Oswald's hands are cold. 

“Back in my apartment, I said that love is a weakness, but I never felt weakened by you.” Ed says, and he watches Oswald’s somewhat wide eyes scanning his own, flitting desperately back and forth. “We made each other stronger, Oswald. You helped me become the person I want to be and I think I helped you too.”

“You did.” Oswald says immediately, voice a little shaky. “But you never loved me, Ed.”

Ed looks at him a long moment, licks his lips, considers drawing back now, not letting all this honesty spill out like this. He knows he’s approaching the point of no return. 

_“Don’t you dare hold back now, coward.”_

“I don’t know if I did then or not.” He says, because that is also true. “I cared about you, I could have loved you.” And he can feel the emotion making his throat dry, he swallows the lump in it. He is not going to cry. “I think I still could.”

Oswald’s free hand raises up and touches his cheek tentatively with a small outtake of breath - almost like a gasp - a nervous smile has spread across his face and looks like he’s shaking a little.  his eyes look watery again, he looks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. It makes Ed feel like he is some precious thing to inspire that kind of adoration. No one has ever made him feel like this before.

“You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.” Ed moves his face so they are nose to nose again, but Oswald doesn’t move in to kiss him, clearly it’s not a chance he wants to take, so Ed does.

He takes Oswald’s bottom lip between his own, swallows the little humming noise he makes and immediately starts to feel is body react in the way he had been repressing all day. Oswald pushes his fingers into Ed’s hair, presses closer and pushes his tongue into Ed’s mouth.

It feels good, so good, and suddenly Ed just wants to be devoured by him. He leans forward so Oswald is lying down and his long body is lying over him. He can taste the tea in his mouth - he'd always imagined Oswald's mouth would taste like bourbon. When their tongues touch, Ed feels the arousal travel like a lit fuse down to his dick.

Oswald's shorter legs are still either side of his hips, and since Ed is following impulse, he finally separates their mouths to trail his lips over Oswald’s chin and jaw. 

“Oh-“ Ed would have put money on Oswald being a noisy one, he’s practically whimpering when Ed puts a hand on his hip to pull them tighter together, and Ed’s eyes flutter closed when he feels Oswald’s erection press against his own through their slacks. It's a relief that he isn't the only one who's so incredibly aroused so soon. Fingers clutch Edward's suit and then his shirt, not quite deciding where to land. 

They're moving a little desperately, as if they're trying to climb under the other's skin. 

_“Rip his fucking clothes off, turn him over, fuck him right here, make sure they can hear it in the city.”_

No, Ed doesn’t want him like that, not right now. But the images spur him on anyway. He will do all those things eventually, he's realising the inevitability of this with every second he loses control of his body and his mind fills with nothing other than getting Oswald off.

He _wants_ _him_ , but he wants to indulge in him for the minute, indulge in this heightened emotion and this shared relief that they’re finally putting aside all their embarrassment and animosity and anger to just kiss and touch each other. Oswald has been a treat he has denied himself for too long, he isn’t going to finish him in one bite, he’s going to savour.

He’s at Oswald’s neck, kissing and licking at the skin there when Oswald pulls his face back to his to kiss him again. He seems loathe to part from his mouth, and Ed smiles against it. 

When he bites Oswald’s bottom lip, he makes a small sound in his throat and thrusts his hips up against his, and Ed is pleased to get _some_ contact against where he’s aching so badly, though it isn’t enough. He’s doesn't want to let go off Oswald, and he barely does when he gets off him to sit beside him, grabs a handful of the waistcoat at Oswald’s waist. 

“C’mere.” He says, and his voice is far more ragged than he expects. Oswald lets Ed drag his body over his, Oswald’s other leg swings over him so he is sitting on his thighs. Ed snakes his hands under the back of Oswald’s waistcoat grips his shirt in his hands.

Blunt fingertips dig into his scalp and send chills up and down his spine when Oswald takes his turn to lavish attention on Ed’s jaw and neck. He’s less wet with it than Ed knows he was, his kisses are more brief and frequent, and his tongue occasionally slips out to taste the skin of his throat. Reverent. 

_“He can’t get enough.”_

When Ed’s hands slip down to squeeze Oswald’s ass firmly, the smaller man lets out a surprised, open-mouthed moan and writhes a little in his lap, grinds their clothed cocks together again and makes Ed’s eyelids flutter closed. Ed had wanted a handful of this for months.

“Oh my god, Ed.” When Ed’s hands find Oswald’s fly, his ears and cheeks flush bright, just the sight of his pink skin and swollen red lips makes Ed throb in his pants. 

Ed hopes he’s coming off like he knows what the hell he is doing, because his fingers feel uncharacteristically uncoordinated and awkward. Oswald doesn’t seem to notice though, his eyes are closed and he’s worrying his lower lip in his teeth. Ed watches his face when he pulls down his fly, and puts his hands on Oswald’s thighs to get him to kneel up enough to pull his trousers and his underwear down just above his knees.

Before he can even consider the fact that he has never done this to another man before, his hand wraps around Oswald’s incredibly hard cock, and the desperate sound he lets out could surely be enough to kill him - or, at least, finish him off in his pants.

“Ed, wait-" Oswald’s trembling fingers stop his hand from moving, and Ed looks up at him in confusion. He can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. “I can’t - I don’t want to be the only one…” 

Oswald’s fingers tentatively touch the buckle of Ed’s belt, and he swallows, he has to wet his dry throat. He licks his lips and nods, and almost can’t watch Oswald opening his belt and fly, it’s too much. It feels like a dream, the air feels too thick and hot for them to really be outside.

When his cock is finally free, and Oswald wraps his hand around it, Ed can’t stop the strangled sound that leaves his mouth, his hips twitch a little and Oswald wobbles on his lap. 

When Oswald starts to slowly jerk him off, Ed looks up at him, sees those bright blue eyes watching his own hand move up and down with a half smile on the corner of his mouth, something akin to fascination on his face.

“I thought about this so much.” Oswald says, his voice barely above a whisper, and Ed looks down at Oswald’s pale hand moving around him, watches his thumb swipe over his leaking tip for a second to make him shudder. 

“Me too.” Ed admits, and delights in how Oswald bucks slightly in his lap when Ed’s hand finds his cock again and mirrors his movements. It’s not going to take long, he can already feel it building low, can feel that heat making his balls tighten and his body start to tense up. 

This has gone far too quickly, he is determined to make Oswald come first.

“ _Fffuck_ , Ed.” But he won’t if he keeps making noises like that. Ed moves his hand a little faster, watches his face for the things that makes his mouth drop open and his hips grind. His left hand is digging into Oswald’s thigh, and Oswald free hand is gripping into his shoulder. His raspy speaking voice has always had a tendency to make him shiver, it's even more intense now, this close. 

“I’m close.” Ed moans, his forehead crinkles as he desperately chases the feeling. Oswald must have done this before, he knows what he’s doing too well for it to be the first time.

“Good,” Oswald leans down to press his sharp nose against Ed’s, looks him in the eye, “I wanna know what you look like when you come.”

And that does it, Ed’s mouth opens in almost a desperate shout and his head falls back, he might have called Oswald’s name, he isn’t sure, all he can think of is that he’s coming harder than he ever has, his hips jerk spastically and he lets go of Oswald’s cock to stop himself gripping it too hard. His hand on Oswald’s thigh squeezes though, and Ed sits his head up and clenches his jaw shut with a low, long grunt as Oswald continues to pump it out of him with small but quick movements.

Oswald is pressing little kisses into Ed’s cheek and across his ear when he comes back to himself, and it takes him even longer to realise that Oswald hasn’t even finished yet. He regains motor functions, feeling desperate and spent, and clumsily takes hold of Oswald in hand again to finish him off.

“Ah - _Ed_ \- god.” Ed releases Oswald’s thigh and puts his hand on the back of his neck instead, presses their foreheads together so he can watch Oswald’s face closely when he comes. His hand his frantic, Oswald is holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

“Come for me.” Ed says, his voice is low and hoarse. He's begging him, and Oswald’s eyes screw closed when he does as he asks, coming hot and wet over Ed’s hand and the front of his shirt.

_“Oh… dear.”_

He’s beautiful, there’s no other word for it. It makes Ed’s heart race even more to see Oswald open his mouth in a long, breathy moan that Ed could take as a pained noise if he couldn’t see the ecstasy across his pink, sweating face. He holds Oswald tight while he jerks and shudders against him, his small body completely tense on top of him, and then slackening when the last of his come spurts hot and creamy over Ed's fist.

And then he is still, and they are sharing ragged, uneven breaths. 

Oswald’s eyes are closed for a long time, but Ed can’t stop looking at him, his heart is still beating hard in his chest; the sound is rushing back to his ears again. 

They’re outside, he remembers, and the sound of the trees rustling as the wind blows through them brings him back to reality. He’s still too hot all over to feel the cold.

“Oswald.” Ed says, quietly, voice hoarse, and he finally looks at him, almost reluctantly, as if Ed is about to push him off and storm inside. He isn’t.

He doesn’t respond, he just moves his sticky forehead off Ed's and reaches down between them to tuck Ed's still sensitive dick back in his pants and fasten them again, before his own. This feels even more intimate than what they’ve just done, it’s quiet and a little awkward as Oswald shucks his hips up to pull up his trousers and underwear. They've both ruined each other's pristine suits.

“I never thought this would really happen.” Oswald says with a slight disbelieving shake of his head, and he climbs off Ed’s lap to sit beside him, and Ed misses his weight atop him. He notices Oswald's fingers are still trembling almost imperceptibly when he picks up a napkin from the table to clean up his hand, before offering it to Ed, who does the same.

“Neither did I.” Ed says, still feeling as if his limbs wouldn’t work if he tried to move them. Oswald outstretches his bad leg with a wince, and Ed feels a little guilty; he should have considered that the position wasn’t the best for him.

“Do you wish it hadn’t?” Oswald asks, almost bracing himself for the answer. Ed feels incredulous - was it not obvious how much he'd enjoyed that? Was it not abundantly clear how much he'd wanted it? - He chooses not to speak though, they’ve done enough of that for now, and instead rests his hand on Oswald’s cheek to pull him in for a soft kiss, and enjoys the hot breath that ghosts his lips when Oswald sighs shakily. 

“There’s a lot of things I wish we hadn’t done to each other, Oswald, but this isn’t one of them.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck a slow burn, bitch! Let's get smashin' and bashin'! 
> 
> I hope you guys don't mind the break from the hurt and angst, their issues obviously aren't _totally _resolved yet but they both needed to release a bit of that tension.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _As usual hope y'all enjoyed and thanks for the comments and kudos, I love it that people like reading this. Won't keep you waiting too long for chapter 4! x_  
>  __  
>  _Find me on tumblr:_  
>  __  
>  _bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main, I can follow back from here)_  
>  __  
>  _everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (my new Gotham blog)_  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very NSFW, (also, the last chapter!)

Oswald can remember almost everything about the past few years of his life; everything he had sacrificed to rise to power, what he’d gained, what he’d lost, and in all of it it’s difficult to locate any softness. It’s all hard, abrasive and cruel, apart from rare moments with his mother, his life has always been navigating those with disdain for him and the ones who pretended not to for their own gains. 

Every punch, kick, slap, shot, he remembers them, they’re familiar to him, he is constantly braced for a strike. 

So this, sitting on the kitchen counter with his short legs dangling off the edge, and watching Ed moving around the kitchen as he cooks dinner, it feels odd, it’s too _soft_ , and the odd glance that the man sends him are softer still - his eyes crinkle at the corners. This day feels like a dream, not an hour ago they had been out in the garden, fully clothed and jerking each other off like teens, and now Oswald’s back in his comfortable clothes and enjoying how the oven is heating the room.

Ed’s change of heart is welcome, of course, it’s everything he’d wanted, but he can’t just accept it without question, because he knows his _own_ capacity for vengeance well enough. 

Oswald watches him as he stands at the counter and chops broccoli, takes in that perfect line of his cheekbone and the pinkness of his lips. He remembers how he’d found him so beautiful the first time they’d met, and how he’d screwed up his face and put on an air of disgust.

‘Letting people know I like them always gets me in trouble.’

That nervousness Ed had the first time they met seems to have mostly melted from him in the time they’ve known each other, he has the ability to switch on this suaveness that disarms Oswald every time he encounters it, and it makes him eager to know every part of him. 

“I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I’m still having trouble getting my head around this.” Oswald says, because he has to.  
  
“Around what?” Ed asks, eyebrows raising in an expression that says he is genuinely asking. Oswald has to fight an eye-roll, Ed never quite grasped that others couldn’t follow his thought process as quickly as him.

“You and I - _this_ … I don’t understand how you’re not angry with me anymore.” He says, and when Ed opens his mouth to accuse him of not listening (he knows that’s what he’s going to say), he stops him. “I know that you’re looking at this as a stepping stone for the both of us, a way forward, and I want that, you know I do. But I know you have these darker impulses, and I can’t imagine that they’re… done with me.”

Oswald hopes he’s articulating himself properly, but a look of understanding crosses Ed’s face, a small smile, and he nods.

“These dark impulses you mentioned, they manifest themselves sometimes, physically in front of me. This…” He swallows, he’s focussing on his hands as he chops carrots. “ _Other me_ that pushes me to do things, that can even take over my body sometimes.”

Oswald stays quiet, he can tell this is difficult for him to say and he doesn’t want to scare him into stopping.

“I’ve always had to fight with him. About Kristen and Isabella, everyone I’ve ever cared about, really, he’s seen them as standing in my way, blockages to being who I’m supposed to be.” He sets down the knife and looks as Oswald, who is again struck by the gentleness he looks at him with. “He never saw you that way, he knew how I felt about you before _I_ did.” 

“So I only appeal to this other side of you?” Oswald knows he sounds hurt.

“No.” Ed shakes his head, looks a bit frustrated at not being understood. “I’ve been in control this whole time, for months. All I’ve had to fight him about is that I’ve wanted to suppress my feelings for you and he hasn’t. Now we’re… Well, cordial with each other…”

He doesn’t want to say ‘together’, clearly, and Oswald is glad, he fears his stomach might fall out in nerves if he did; though ‘cordial’ seems an odd word for what they had done.

“He’s, _we’re_ , glad. We’re working a little more symbiotically. I’ve never experienced that before.” He says. “That is to say that _I’m_ working more symbiotically, with myself.” 

“How does it feel?” Oswald asks, because he has to try and understand Ed’s mentality as best he can.

He seems to think on it a moment before answering, he leans back against the counter beside Oswald’s leg.

“It feels like a relief.” He says. “Not to have to fight with myself and feel guilt for every other thought I have.” 

“I’m glad.” Oswald says, and Ed turns his head to look at him, gives him a small smile that makes Oswald’s chest get that clenching feeling. “I hate the idea of you being at war with yourself, you don’t deserve it.” 

“Are you sure about that Oswald? You ask how I’m not angry with you, like you’ve forgotten _I_ tried to kill you.” Ed gets back to work, scoops vegetables into his hand and drops them in the pot. “That happened.”

Oswald sighs. Yes, it did happen, and he knows if it were anyone else he would still be incredibly angry, he would literally be murderous. It isn’t anyone else though, it’s Ed.

“I suppose we’re just two very odd people.” Is all he can say, knowing what a tremendous understatement that is.

Ed laughs a little.

“Yes, I suppose so.” He washes off his hands in the sink, before moving to stand directly in front of Oswald as he dries them on a tea-towel. “A couple of freaks.” 

Ed’s hands are on his thighs and Oswald fights the urge to jolt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand how this has happened.” Oswald admits with a small shake of his head. He raises his fingers to touch that cheekbone he had been admiring, it’s nice to be able to touch him and have it be accepted. 

“That’s alright, I’ll understand for the both of us.” Ed says, with mirth. “I’m very smart.”

Oswald rolls his eyes but can’t fully fight the smile breaking his face when Ed leans in and kisses him carefully. He knows his nose is pressing into Ed’s cheek, but he doesn’t seem to mind, he hopes he doesn’t. Ed is leaning into him, a hand is sliding up his thigh to squeeze his hip, and Oswald immediately starts to feel himself respond.

It’s been so long since he was intimate with someone, and it was never like this. His sexual encounters have always been quick and hurried, and always made quite clear that gentle kissing in the kitchen was never going to happen. 

“I’m sorry.” Ed murmurs against his lips, and Oswald feels like he’s going to cry _again,_ but bites it back and rests his hands on Ed’s forearms instead.

“I’m sorry too.” He says, and Ed breaks from his lips to put his forehead in his shoulder, and Oswald is surrounded by the heat and the smell of him. 

It takes him a second to respond, but he places his hand on the back of Ed’s head and holds him there. It’s what they both need, he supposes, and though it feels unfamiliar and strange, it floods his stomach with a warm tranquility that makes him let out a shaky breath.

That heat turns to a sizzle when Ed starts pecking kisses up his neck, and then over his sensitive ear; he closes his eyes at the feeling, feels himself shiver. 

“You have very endearing ears.” Ed says, and he sounds like he could be speaking into his medical recorder, making notes. Oswald breathes a laugh through his nose, that is certainly not something he has heard before. “Very round.”

“Well, I’m glad my ears endear you.” He humours, and can feel Ed smile against him while he pecks his jaw. 

Oswald pulls back so he can look at him.

“What else do you like about me?” Oswald says, and the lowness of his own voice takes him by surprise, that he would even ask surprises him.

Ed wasn’t anticipating that, but of course he takes it in stride, biting his bottom lip a second.

“Your eyes, they’re light enough to reflect any colour.” Ed says, and Oswald can already feel himself blushing. He almost wishes he hadn’t asked, scrutiny of his appearance makes him feel embarrassed, like he has invited Ed to notice all the ugliest things about him.

“In my apartment, with the neon sign outside, they looked green, but they’re all blue now.” Ed seems far more confident with this than he is, but the gentle touches and escalating heat are helping. 

“I like your nose.” He says, and Oswald scoffs at that, shaking his head. “What?” Ed pauses in his ministrations for a minute at the noise.

“No you don’t.” He says, and he’s truly angry at himself for sounding as insecure as he is.

“Yes I do.” Ed says. “We’re not lying to each other anymore, are we?”

“No, I suppose not.” Oswald says gently, but unconvinced. 

“So, take me at my word, I like your pointy nose.” And Ed places a peck on it to demonstrate, and Oswald can’t fight the impulse to laugh and lightly shove him away. He isn’t pushed away for long though, his hands find Oswald’s thighs again.

“Would you like me to show you the rest, Oswald?” The way Ed looks down at him with those hooded eyes and a slight sly smile absolutely ruins him.

Has he slipped into some kind of coma and this is an incredibly detailed dream? If it is, he’s happy to stay in it - Ed has moved his hands round to his ass so he can pull him to the edge of the counter so they are flush together, there’s desperation in his movements.

Ed is desperate for him. That’s a novel thought.  
  
“I really like this.” He says, and gives his ass a demonstrative squeeze that immediately makes him harden in his pants and flush all over. “I’ve thought about this _a lot_.”

“Have you ever…”

“Touched myself thinking about you? Yes.” Ed is pecking little kisses down Oswald’s neck again, his fingers start to pull his tie open. “Have you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oswald is sitting here like a spare part, he realises, just enjoying the attention, so he slips his hands up Ed’s jumper to untuck his shirt. He wants to touch his skin properly, he’s never got to more than his neck and his cock.

“I think I want you to say it.” Ed says, and Oswald should slap that smug look off his face when he pulls back to take of Oswald’s tie and works on his shirt buttons. 

“Many times.” He answers, meeting the challenge. His skin tingles when Ed’s knuckles ghost his chest to pull his shirt open as he goes. “Some nights I couldn’t go to sleep without thinking about you and all the things I wanted to do with you.” 

It makes it easier to say these things with the arousal flooding his mind. Most likely Ed would know the scientific reason for that and go on at length about it if he asked. Ed doesn’t take his shirt all the way off, he just leaves it open, starts working on Oswald’s belt before his brain can catch up. 

“Like what?” Ed asks, and he sounds a bit breathless, he’s standing up straight between Oswald’s legs as he opens his fly enough to shove in his hand, cups Oswald’s cock through his underwear. 

He whimpers, holds Ed’s wrist, urges him to move it and relieve some of that almost painful pressure. Ed doesn’t though, he holds fast, just keeps him cupped in his hand. 

“Tell me.” He says. The lowness of his voice rolls through Oswald from head to toe, it makes him shudder.

“Thought about touching your cock,” he says, looking down, and his rewarded then Ed slowly starts to rub him, so he keeps going, “thought about sucking it… swallowing your come.”

Ed very quickly pulls of Oswald’s trousers for that, and he feels the excitement buzz through him like electricity. He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed that he is still perched on the kitchen counter in his underwear and open shirt, because Ed wastes no time in pulling down his underwear enough so his cock springs free, very hard and as flushed as the rest of him.

‘At least I don’t have to be embarrassed about that.’ He thinks. It’s not gigantic, but it’s a little bigger than average, and thick, and Ed seems transfixed as he looks at it and wraps his hand around again. 

“What else?” Ed asks, voice a grumble, gaze cast down under his glasses as his hand very slowly - _too_ _slowly_ \- moves around Oswald’s cock. 

“I don’t know.” Oswald says breathlessly. How is he supposed to think with Ed right in front of him, looking like that and doing _that_? Ed’s hand stops though, and he meets Oswald’s eye with a dark sort of amusement. He loves his little games, Oswald is picking up on that, so he will have to play along if he wants any relief. 

“Fucking you…” He breathes out, and watches Ed’s mouth drop slightly as he speaks. “Being fucked by you… having you fill me up.”

“Oswald…” Ed’s eyelids flutter a bit, and when he bends forward fully, and licks the tip of his cock, Oswald feels pleasure shoot through him and his head falls back on his shoulders.

He knows Ed can’t possibly be about to blow him in this position, it didn’t lend itself to comfort at all, but he pecks kisses down his cock instead, and Oswald moans aloud.

“Ed…” When he sits his head up, that amusement is gone on his face, his cheeks are flushed, his pupils are dilated.

Ed wants him, he wants him so much, it’s written all over his face. Oswald wants him too. 

“Let’s go to your room.” Ed says, and essentially scoops him off the counter to his feet. 

In a daze, Oswald just about has the clarity of mind to pull up his boxers over his uncomfortably leaking dick as Ed takes his hand and rushes him out of the kitchen. 

They’re on the stairs when Ed starts kissing him again, and Oswald enthusiastically reciprocates, almost standing on tip toes and being dragged up against Ed’s body by the waist. He feels vaguely ridiculous with his shirt open and hardly anything else on, Ed is fully clothed.

“I’ve thought about fucking you too.” Ed says, and they’re scrambling upstairs, touching and connecting frantically and without coordination as they make their way to the master bedroom. “So much.” 

When Oswald puts his hand on the doorknob, Ed presses his front against his back, puts his hand over his to stop him from opening the door and presses him against it. 

“This would go quicker if you would actually let me-“

“I don’t _want_ it to go quicker.” Ed grinds his hips against his ass, and Oswald feels the incredibly hard erection press _right_ _there_ , right where he’s wanted him for weeks - months, even. “What disappears as soon as you say its name?”  
  
If he could see inside his own mind, he is sure he would see nothing but TV static in that moment.

‘What is he saying? What is he trying to ask me?’

“I don’t…” And then he realises. “ _A riddle_?” He asks with a obvious frustration. “Now?”

He can feel the grin against his neck, and then Ed’s hand slips into his underwear, he starts to slowly jerk him again, Oswald lets out a shaky breath and his eyes screw shut. He can’t take this, this turning on and off of pressure without getting finished off.

“We’re not going in there until you figure it out.” 

There is no way he can begin to figure out a riddle right now, his brain is barely able to focus on stringing a sentence together. He can hardly remember what he’d even said. 

“Ahh… _Ed_. Come on, please.” He rubs his backside against Ed’s crotch instead, listens to the little puff of air he lets out over his ear at the friction. When Ed still doesn’t let him open the door, he lets out a growl of frustration. “Does the answer have something to do with what we’re doing?”

Ed chuckles low. “No, I’m just eager to find out how well your skills of logical thinking perform under intense pressure.” 

Oswald screws up his nose, tries his best to wrack his brain for an answer, but is coming up short. 

This is not his strong suit at the best of times, never mind when the man he has been fantasising about for has his hand on his cock.

So, he tries something else. His mouth had got him out of plenty of situations before.

“Ed.” He murmurs, deliberately breathy, and turns so his back is pressed against the door instead. “Please, tell me the answer later.” He palms Ed’s erection through his trousers, fights off a pleased smile when he jolts at the contact. “I can’t wait any longer, I need you.” He’s not lying, he’s just being his boldest. “I want your cock in my mouth.”

He thinks sounds sultry and confident, but he immediately feels himself blush when he says it. 

Clearly, it works, because he finds himself through the door and on the bed in seconds. Ed is taking of his jumper, tugging at his tie, he half kneels over him and Oswald sits up to frantically help him with the buttons with clumsy fingers, shoving his own completely off his shoulders somewhere in there.

It’s the most of Ed’s body he’s seen: long and slim, sharp collarbones, lightly muscled stomach, a little brown hair running from his belly button and into his pants. Oswald is immediately in awe of him, and he sits up to run his hands up Ed’s sides, feels him shiver as he touches his stomach, and follows the impulse to plant kisses on his chest, and experimentally lick one of his nipples.

“ _Oh_ , dear-“ He quivers under the touch, clearly he had not anticipated it. Oswald smiles up at him a little, repeats the action and feels his shiver while he unfastens Ed’s trousers and pushes them off his hips.

Oswald feels himself trembling when he lies back on his elbows and watches Ed push off his underwear, and his hard cock moves between his legs, making Oswald ache all the more. He keeps his eyes to the ceiling when Ed takes off his underwear for him. Feeling too exposed.

He’s glad the room is dimly lit only by the dying winter sun outside, they can see each other, but Oswald does not like the idea of being stark in the overhead light under Ed’s gaze, not when _he_ looks so beautiful. 

When his long, naked body is finally lying over his, Oswald feels that clench in his chest again, it feels so incredibly right. Although he’s buzzing with nervous energy, he feels comfortable, because Ed is kissing him with a certain reverence that tells him he finds _him_ beautiful in return. 

Oswald turns them over so he’s kneeling above Ed’s body, keeps them connected at the mouths before kissing his way down his chest and stomach to fulfil his earlier promise. Ed’s breath hitches, and when Oswald takes his cock in hand glances up at him, his eyes are half shut.

It’s been a while, but Oswald remembers how to do this, it’s muscle memory. He doesn’t waste much time sucking on the tip of Ed’s cock, he wants to make him feel good, he wants to please him. He swallows him into his throat quickly.

“Ah! - _Oswa_ -“ His moaning gasp peters off into nothing and Oswald smiles around the the weighty flesh in his mouth. It’s strange, how familiar Ed feels, he’s fantasied about this so many times it barely feels new. 

‘Just so, so fucking good.’

The taste of Ed’s skin and the salty edge of his precum spurs Oswald on, he takes him in hand as he sucks, close his eyes and focusses on not gagging when he takes as much of him in as he can - he can’t get down to the base, he has to take off his mouth and let his saliva run down to get him wet there. 

It’s the sounds he makes that leave Oswald liable to coming without being touched. He’s glad his knees are bent, because he feels like even if he pressed his dick into the mattress it would be enough friction to set him off.  
  
“Oh - fuck, _god_.” It’s still odd to hear Ed swear, but he likes it. He looks up at him, and feels himself pulse when he notices that Ed is watching him, mouth half open and eyes dark under his glasses.

He realises Ed’s hands are both gripping the sheets beside him, and he pulls off enough to speak with the tip of Ed’s cock against his bottom lip.

“You can hold my hair - if you like.” He says, because he’s getting the impression he’s a little more comfortable with this part of it than Ed is.

“Okay.” He says, breathlessly, his cheeks glowing red, and when Oswald takes him halfway in again, he feels long pianists fingers weave into the hair at the back of his head, not pulling or tugging, just holding and feeling the motion as he bobs on Ed’s dick.

“So good… feels so fucking good.” And Ed sounds so completely wrecked that Oswald feels a jolt of satisfaction run through him.

‘I did this to him. No one else could make him feel like this.’

“I’m gonna come. Oswald - I’m-“ He can’t string a sentence together, and Oswald can’t fight off a smile as he speeds up the motion of his hand and mouth in tandem, draws him closer to closer and listens to his panting breaths and moans. 

Ed’s fingers are tightening in his hair, if he could speak, Oswald would ask him to pull it a little. 

“Oswald.” Ed’s trying to warn him, which is cute - Oswald keeps going in earnest, he reaches under his own chin to fondle Ed’s balls in his hand for a moment, and feels a shudder wrack through his whole body. His hips are trying to raise off the bed involuntarily, pushing him further into Oswald’s mouth.  
  
Another stretched moan of his name and Oswald pulls his mouth off, and feverishly jerks him the rest of the way, tongue out and pressed to the tip, ready for it.  
  
He has never wanted anything more than to feel Ed come in his mouth.

Ed’s eyes are tight closed, his brow is knitted, his lip his caught between his teeth and Oswald can see the sweat on his forehead making his loose hair curly. 

“Please come for me, Ed.” He murmurs so his breath ghosts the tip fora second. 

And he does, and Oswald doesn’t think he’s been so incredibly turned on in his life as when Ed’s come hits his tongue, think and salty, and copious, and he groans out a shout with his head back that Oswald wished he’d been taping so he could hear it again, and again.

He slows his hand down on Ed’s twitching dick, makes sure he’s got every last drop before swallowing it down with a hidden wince. It’s not something he would do for just anyone.

When Oswald crawls back up his body, Ed looks dazed, his cheeks are glowing, he’s sweaty and panting.

“You - Jesus, Oswald.” Oswald just smiles, very pleased with himself, and kisses him deeply.

Languid hands immediately find his ass again, and his cock pressed against Ed’s bare abdomen leaks as they wetly kiss, and he feels Ed subtly undulating his hips under him.

“Can I do something for you, Oswald?” He asks, sounding a little bit hoarse.

‘Depends what it is.’ Oswald knows he should say, but all he can do is nod. He needs something, _anything_ for relief. 

“Can you -“ Ed hesitates for a second, he’s blushing deeply. “Will you get on all fours?”

He knows he looks very surprised.  


“Already?” He looks down at Ed’s cock, still softening against his stomach. He’s not sure he’s been fully… prepared for that yet. Ed probably doesn't have enough experience to know that. 

Ed huffs a little laugh through his nose.

“No, not that, yet.” He says, and he’s chewing his bottom lip a little nervously. It’s Oswald’s turn to flush, but he does as Ed asks, because he wants it.

He bites back all his embarrassment and that dreadful feeling of exposure when he’s presented on all fours in front of Ed and he feels the bed adjust when he kneels behind him. 

The first sensation he feels is a bite to one of his asscheeks that makes him jump and jolt forward a bit.

“What the hell, Ed?” He can’t help but say, face heating, dick pulsing. 

“Sorry, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Ed says and does not sound sorry at all. 

Oswald doesn’t have the time to pretend to be mad though, Ed drops his glasses on the end table, and then spreads him apart and places a flat-tongued lick against his asshole that makes Oswald let out a shaking moan.  
  
He almost tells him to stop - it’s too much, it’s too intimate, but he does it again and Oswald’s eyes roll back as he trembles, and feels his cock throb where it hangs.

“Ed…” Is all he can say, and he feels firm hands digging into his backside as Ed experimentally licks and kisses at him, alternating the hardness and softness of his tongue, occasionally putting the tip inside and making Oswald whine.

He’s arching his back without realising, pushing his ass up closer to Ed’s mouth pleadingly. 

’It feels so _fucking_ good.’ He thinks, but doesn’t say out loud because his voice isn’t working.

“Touch yourself.” Ed murmurs, and his breath ghosts him hotly. Oswald un-fists his hand from the sheet, wraps it around his own cock and finds himself more sensitive than he can remember ever being.

“I’ll-“ His voice is so hoarse it’s almost gone. “I’ll come straight away if I…”

“Good.” With a final swipe of his tongue, Ed sits up, and leans over Oswald’s back, he reaches his hand around and knocks his out of the way, takes over, jerking Oswald’s cock much quicker then he was.

“Ah - ah!” Oswald sobs at the intensity of his pleasure, it’s building to a crescendo already. 

“Do you feel that, Oswald?” Ed uses his free hand to tap the underside of his cock against Oswald’s ass, he’s hard again, and that knowledge is enough to push him even closer. He nods, desperate moans slipping from his mouth. Ed leans fully against his back so his lips press against his ear, he continues to jerk him, puts his left hand over Oswald’s throat gently. “Tomorrow I’m gonna fuck you with it - I’m gonna fuck you so good, _so good_.” 

Ed sounds desperate too, and that’s it, he comes with a shout of his name and Ed’s strong hand working him off. 

“Fuck, _fuuuck_ …” His hips gyrate in rhythm with it as he spurts onto the sheets, he can feel Ed’s sweaty front pressing into his back, and his grip on his throat tightens just enough so he can feel the pressure of it. 

He’s surrounded by him, the air is hot and close, and he sobs out his release, actually feels his eyes water at the intense fervour of it. 

When he feels Ed unstick from him enough to pump himself a few times in hand, and come hot and wet over his ass and back - for the third time that day - Oswald feels like he could not be more spent and drained than he is now. 

They don’t say anything, they just pant, their ragged breaths the only sound in the room as Oswald holds himself up on weak arms and legs, and enjoys the pressure of Ed pressed against his back.

But it isn’t a comfortable position to stay in, and he becomes acutely aware of the come on the sheets and his back, they are both _covered_ in sweat.

Ed gets off him and sits back against the headboard, and Oswald finally turns to face him, sits down in front of his bent leg. They just look at each other for a moment, too breathless to say anything. 

“Ah, the answer to my riddle.” Ed finally says, chest still rising and falling heavily. “Silence.”

‘Fuck, I love him so much.’ Is all Oswald can think as he watches that face he’s admired for so long stretch in a wide smile. 

“I can’t stand you.” He says, breathing a laugh out of his nose and shaking his head. Ed is clearly not convinced, he tugs Oswald over for a small kiss. It’s pure, brief, and simple, that kiss, it makes Oswald feel loved. “We should take a shower.”

“Agreed.” Ed nods, and wrinkles his nose at his own sweatiness.

So, they shower together, that private thing that Oswald had always luxuriated in alone. They take special care over his healing wound, it’s still stitched and firmly dressed, and when Ed washes his hair for him and comments on how he wears a ridiculous amount of gel in it, Oswald starts to tear up, and Ed doesn’t question it. 

With fresh underwear, and after watching Ed change the sheets, (Oswald has never really enjoyed that task much), they’re back in bed, side by side. Oswald is laying back against the pillows, and Ed is on his side, head propped up with his hand, watching him, occasionally tracing a finger over his collarbone or his shoulder.

Oswald is fine with it, he thinks he’d be fine lying here and feeling Ed’s gentle touches for the rest of his life.  
  
It’s dark, and the fire in the huge bedroom has been lit, casting a dull orange glow and warming them both. He feels relaxed, his leg isn’t hurting right now, it’s quiet.

“Do you ever miss your apartment?” Oswald asks, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Is that a hint?” Ed asks with some mirth.

“ _No_.” Oswald rolls his eyes. “It’s just… _I_ do.” He says with a small shrug. 

“You miss my apartment?” Ed clarifies, and draws some sort of shape on his shoulder with the tip of his finger.

“It was cosy, not exactly my taste but… I don’t know, it was just me and you in that one huge room and we listened to the record player and that quilt was _so_ soft.” Oswald feels at the black sheet under his fingers, it’s incredibly expensive, but nowhere near as comfortable as Ed’s bed had been. “If you hadn’t found me in the woods and brought me there I would have had to deal with that grief I had alone here, in this big empty house. Strange as it sounds, your apartment is very dear to me now.”

Ed is quiet for a moment, but Oswald doesn’t expect a response, he’s just talking anyway.

“We should go there.” Ed says, and Oswald can hear the smile in his voice. He’s got this childlike playfulness sometimes that Oswald, try as he might to be irritated by it, is so endeared to.

“We should?” He says with a small laugh, skeptical.

“Why not? Call one of your fancy cars, pack a bag, we’ll go there for the night.” Ed sits up and slips out of bed, Oswald _has_ _to_ watch his ass as he begins to open his huge closet to find Oswald’s bag.  
  
“Ed, I was just talking. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we have a _whole mansion_ here.” Oswald sits up.

“We’re not moving _into_ my place, Oswald, we’re just visiting.” Ed’s doing that thing where he gesticulates a lot, he has dropped Oswald’s overnight bag onto the bed and is neatly packing a change of clothes into it, finding his cologne and other essentials. 

“Aren’t you exhausted?” Oswald asks incredulously, the sheet falls to his waist. “It’s late, let’s just get some sleep.”

“Actually, Oswald, I don’t feel exhausted at all.” He abandons the bag and puts his knee on the bed next to him. “I feel rather energised, actually. Perhaps it’s the dopamine my body has been producing all day from the several orgasms, or just…” 

He shakes his head slightly as he looks at Oswald, as if he can’t find the words, and he wonders what he was going to say. 

It’s easy to feel caught up with him, it’s a silly, inconsequential little thing they’re doing, but he feels excited, like they’re going on some little secret nighttime trip without telling their parents. All the fun he should have had when he _was_ a teenager. 

Oswald doesn’t fight it, he gets out of bed and dresses himself in his comfortable clothes, sweater back in place, doesn’t bother to fix is hair. It is night after all, no one will be seeing him but Ed, and he had been quite admiring his ‘fluffy,’ as he called it, un-styled hair. 

His car takes them both across town, and it seems strange to be leaving the estate. It had been the longest he had been out of the city in a while, since Arkham, even; it almost feels like coming home from a vacation. Everything is the same as he left it, Gotham never really seems to change, and he doesn’t love it any less now that he’s been away for a while. 

He and Ed are quiet on the drive, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Besides, anything they might want to talk about is probably best said out of the earshot of the driver, he’s trustworthy, but Oswald knows some gossip is too tantalising to be kept to oneself. 

The mayor and his chief of staff tried to ruin each other’s lives/kill one another and are now fooling around is information Oswald knows wouldn’t be able to resist spreading around. 

The window is down enough to let the breeze in, the sound of the streets and the occasional thump of the clubs they drive past. It smells like cold and the night, and Oswald enjoys it, he hadn’t realised how sick he had been getting of that house until getting out of it. 

Though the mansion belonged to his family, it had never been his home, of course, he isn’t a Van Dahl, he’s a Cobblepot, and he didn’t grow up in that kind of luxury; he always _felt_ destined for it and like he deserved it, but these streets, a tiny apartment with his mother - it’s more familiar and true than any of that.

Maybe that’s why he loves Ed’s place so much, come to think of it. 

His apartment is cold when Ed opens the sliding door, it feels like it has been empty for a while, which it has, and Oswald is drawn immediately over to the bed. He runs his fingers over the piano keys on the way to hear that tinkle, enjoys the familiar decor and the green neon sign that lazily flashes on and off outside, casts the room in its glow. Oswald would never choose some of the art that Ed has hanging around his apartment, but it fits here, and it fits Ed. 

“Is it as you remember it?” Ed asks, watching Oswald cross the place to sit on the bed.

“Yes.” He says, and lies back against it, feels the soft patchwork quilt under his palms. “How about you? It’s been a while since you've been here as well.” If Ed wanted them to do anything but sleep now, he would be disappointed, Oswald feels his exhaustion from the day taking him, making his bones feel heavy.

Oswald can so well remember when he'd first woken up in this bed, so weak and full of grief, and how rude he'd been to the man that had saved him. It wasn't the last time he'd ended up saving him then either. After the gunshot and the sepsis, he'd had to deal with the loss of the only person he'd ever loved, and can't imagine how hard that would have been to do alone. 

No wonder he's so attached to Ed, he'd shown him there was nothing he couldn't get through, he had taken the worst time of his life and turned it into the beginning of a precious connection between them, with Chinese food and singing and music. _Of course_ Oswald had fallen in love with him, who wouldn't?

“I think I forgot how much I like it here.” Ed says, and Oswald feels the bed shift by his head when Ed sits down. “And you’re right about this bed, comfiest in Gotham.”

Oswald toes off his shoes, he hears Ed doing the same, and with lazy limbs he pulls the sweater over his head and dumps it on the end of the bed, slips under the quilt. He hears Ed make a small noise of displeasure; he stands to pick up Oswald’s sweater, folds it and places it on the dresser.

He can’t help but smile cheekily to himself at his fussiness. Down to his underwear and vest, Ed slips into the bed too, and Oswald can already feel his eyes drooping. Strange how a place he had never actually _lived_ could feel so incredibly homely and familiar.

Ed shuffles up next to where he’s lying on his back, he bunches up a pillow with his arm under his neck and drapes the other over Oswald’s stomach. 

All the intimate things they’ve done today and it still catches Oswald’s breath, that he wants to touch him as they sleep; to be close to him.  Oswald lifts his hand and traces his fingertips over the fine hair on Ed’s forearm.

“This was a good idea.” He says quietly, closing his eyes and enjoying the faint ghosting of Ed’s breath over his cheek.

“I know.” Ed draws slow circles on Oswald’s chest with his middle finger. “It’s like we never left.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come back soon for a short epilogue. There's no way I'll not be able to make this a series though, one short story is definitely not enough for me and this couple. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr:
> 
> bloody--holly.tumblr.com (main, I can follow back from here)
> 
> everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com (Gotham only)


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a little too long for an epilogue? Maybe, but I make the rules in this house. 
> 
> Kind of disgustingly romantic, definitely not the last I'll be writing in this alternative timeline. Also NSFW like RIGHT off the bat.

The desk is too huge and sturdy to rattle, and that’s a good thing; no one could know what was going on in the office without pressing their ear right against the door or opening it to peak inside. If they did, they would hear the shared pants and grunts of the two men clinging to one another and moving at a quick demanding pace.

Ed hates the fabric between them, but they certainly do not have the time to strip to nothing, and ever since he had watched Oswald scold one of his waiters for sloppy presentation, Ed had been desperate to be inside him - nothing else would do.

The heel of Oswald’s shoe is digging into the back of his thigh, he’s grabbing his jacket almost too hard at the shoulder, but none of those sensations compare to the feeling of Oswald hot, tight and well-lubricated around his cock, taking him in like he always does so well.

It’s impossible for Oswald to stay silent, he’s learnt this, and he doesn’t want him to, either. The little whimpering moans and grunts in his ear almost equal the feeling of his ass.

“Going to come soon - _ah_ , Ed, fuck.” Oswald squeezes his eyes shut and Ed nods, panting out a moan against Oswald’s open mouth. He presses forward, lays Oswald on his back and gives him a good hard push, to which he receives an incredibly gratifying choked noise that makes him pulse.

Neither of them are going to last long, and that’s the point, it’s quick and frantic, a little shot of satisfaction to get them through the day.

“ _God_ , so fucking - unh.” Ed feels the tip of Oswald’s nose pressing into his cheek, and then Oswald’s tongue slip wetly against his own - Ed must be practically drooling into his mouth, he can’t get a hold of himself when they’re like this, he’s the opposite of his normal self. Uncontrolled, crude, sloppy.

When he adjusts his hips a little, he knows he’s hitting Oswald’s prostate because his voice takes on a higher pitch and he looks dizzy, his cheeks flushing even pinker.

He knows Oswald’s going to come because he can see that crease in his forehead and he can’t keep his eyes from screwing shut; he’s close too, can feel the heat unfurling low, making his clothes tight and the air feel hot. 

“Don’t let it get on my suit.” Oswald says between gritted teeth, voice breaking, his hand stilling on his own cock, and Ed would laugh if he had the breath in him to do it. 

“Where else - ah- is it going to go?” He runs his thumb over Oswald’s lower lip because he can’t resist. 

“Improvise, genius.” He says between his teeth, and that really shouldn’t be the thing that makes Ed come inside him - but it is - it shakes through him and makes him grip Oswald tight, his body tensing then releasing, filling him up. 

_Snarkiness_ of all things peaked his arousal, but all he can focus on is the white behind his eyes and the pleasure that feels like it’s going on forever. 

He thrusts his hips hard as he spurts inside him one last time, and he feels that leg tighten against the back of his as he groans out his release.

“ _Oswald_ ,” he gasps, his own voice hoarse and tight, “god I love you.”

Ed says it more now, and it’s always in moments like this. 

A casual, ‘okay, see you later, I love you,’ hasn’t occurred from either of the yet. He’s been on the precipice of it a lot, but he can feel Oswald holding back, so he follows his lead. It’s not like he could question why Oswald would be hesitant to avoid those three little words. 

When they’re doing this, it’s easy to say, it’s _‘you feel amazing, you’re beautiful, thank you, please never leave me,’_ all in one simple sentence. 

“Ed, Ed please.” Oswald whimpers, and Ed sees he has reached down and is squeezing his own cock tight at the base, looks like he’s almost in pain holding it back. 

_His suit_ , of course.

Ed breathes out a shaky little laugh and carefully pulls out of him, kneels down and wraps his mouth around him instead. 

“Nnh, _yes_.” Oswald’s fingers weave in the back his hair, and then he’s non-verbal again, just stretched moans and his name. He suspects Oswald is a little better at this than him, but he’s getting plenty of practice, he caresses his balls carefully and sucks him with enthusiasm, letting his saliva wet him.

When he looks up Oswald’s arms are shaking to hold his back upright, his eyes are shut and his head is thrown back. He teases the weeping head for just a second to feel him jolt, then relaxes his throat and takes him to the base for a second, he can’t do it for too long without gagging, but it does the trick. 

His fingers tighten and his blunt nails dig into Ed’s scalp when comes thick and salty in his mouth, and he swallows it dutifully, with a hidden grimace; they are _avoiding_ making a mess after all. Oswald sounds desperate when he comes, breath coming out in little pants and a long, sustained moan falling from his lips.

When he's done, Ed straightens up, he leans over to kiss him, and smiles when he pulls back, Oswald rolls his eyes but kisses him back anyway.

“What?” Ed asks, still smiling as Oswald nudges him off to get to his feet and pull up his underwear and trousers.  
  
“You always look at me so innocently. There is _nothing_ innocent about coming inside me.” Oswaldsmirks, and feels a little tingle up his spine, the faintest tone of scolding in his voice but his eyes saying otherwise. 

They’re both wrung out, lazy in their movements, but Ed feels refreshed, peppy - Oswald’s that kind of tonic, invigorating. Ed fastens his pants and straightens out his suit, and hopes it’s not glaringly obvious to anyone who might been the club what they’d been doing. Apart from the glow on Oswald’s cheeks, _he_ looks entirely un-mussed.

_’Need to work on wrecking him a little more next time.’_

When Oswald picks up the coffee in the cardboard cup on his desk, Ed remembers why he had come in the first place, to bring him coffee from his favourite cafe and to discuss something important that has nothing to do with filling him with come. 

“Speaking of things that aren’t very innocent, I had an idea I wanted to run past you.” Ed leans on the desk beside him as Oswald gets himself comfortable in his chair. 

“When did you leave this morning?” Oswald isn’t listening, he’s taking the lid off the coffee.

“About an hour before your alarm, you’re a very heavy sleeper, and you snore.” He says quickly, wanting to get back to the matter at hand.

“No I don’t.” Oswald protests into his drink. 

“You do, loudly.” He holds up his pointer fingers as he speaks. “It’s quite annoying.”

Noticing it on the desk, Oswald puts the lube away in a bottom drawer, obscures it with a pile of papers. Then he presses the tip of his sharp nose to the rim of the coffee to smell it before sipping. 

Ed cocks his head at the action. “Are you sniffing for poison?”  


“I wouldn’t put it past you.” He shrugs, though Ed can see the amusement in his glance. “And then you would place the various ingredients to the antidote in lockboxes around Gotham that I would have to go on a scavenger hunt to locate.”  
  
Ed is irritated both that Oswald is making fun of him, and that it _actually_ sounds like a good idea.

“I would prefer if you didn’t mock my process, Oswald.” Ed crosses his ankles.

“Prefer away.” Oswald lifts his hand, clearly in the mood to wind him up today.

Ed decides to ignore it. 

“Back to what I was saying… As you know my bank robberies have been _quite_ successful.” He can’t keep the rather self-satisfied look of his face. “But none of them have been _the_ robbery. Rather carefully constructed parts of a symphony… Gotham Merchant’s Bank is the crescendo.”  


“You’ve made all your success on your own, Ed, I’m not sure what you’re asking me.” Oswald leans bank in his chair as he regards him.

“I am two-faced, but bear one head, I have no legs but travel widely, I make kings immortal, I am potent when shared, yet lust for my power keeps me locked away. What am I?” He grins and feels a little thrill to see Oswald’s eyes look by him as he tries to figure it out. 

“I already have money.” He says after a moment, and Ed wants to give him a gold star.

“Oh, this is _lots_ of money.” 

“And are you offering to gift money to me, or are you asking me to help you?” Oswald asks, even though he knows the answer. “No offence Ed, but I prefer not to get my hands quite as dirty as you do.”

Ed decides to be honest. “I thought it could be fun. Our schemes are always so separate.” 

“They are, we have very different ways of operating.” Oswald shrugs.

“And our money.” Ed places the tips of his index fingers together before moving them apart. “Separate.”

Oswald cocks his head a little, a considering smile on his lips. “So, this is a way for us to share assets? Should I have a prenuptial agreement drawn up?”

“If you can find a lawyer who’ll create a pre-nup based on one-hundred-million dollars of stolen money I’d be incredibly impressed. But no, this isn’t a proposal of that kind.” He says, though the idea doesn’t sound quite as terrifying as he might have thought.

“Thank god.” 

_‘Quite a wedding party though, Ivy on bouquet duty, Victor freezing the dance floor so we can skate the first dance - perhaps they could get Jim Gordon to come as best man or flower-boy.’_

“I think it would be fun.” Ed repeats, and he realises he’s one of many who have stood in this office and tried to convince Oswald to do something.

He’s quite sure he’s the only one whose blown him before asking though.

“Think of what you could do with all that money…” Ed leans down a little. “Forget this place, you could guarantee your re-election as mayor, maybe even take over city hall…”

“Take over?” He sees his interest pique at that. His face always looks a little younger when he’s tantalised.

“Valeska might be dead, but it’s only a matter of time before the city is thrown into chaos again. How many coups and wars have we gone through over the past months? Things are too tenuous in Gotham, all it takes is a little more craziness and they’ll be _begging_ to have you put leashes back on the maniacs and fix everything again.” 

“You’re presuming a lot.” Oswald’s thumb raises to his mouth to bite his nail on habit and Ed bats it away, ignoring the scowl he gets in return. His scowls are nuanced and many - this is halfhearted at best.

“I’m usually right when I presume. Remember Sofia? I sniffed out _her_ plans straight away.” Oswald’s face turns sour at her name.

_‘Should have sent her head in a box to the GCPD for trying to use false-friendship against him.Wonder how her corpse is doing weighed down at the bottom of the bay?’_

“I don’t doubt your intelligence or guile, Ed, but you’re not omniscient.” He says and sips his coffee. 

“How would you know?” Ed teases.

Oswald rolls his eyes - he does that a lot. 

“You do realise _you_ would count as one of the maniacs I would be asked to put a leash on? Is that what you want?”

“Oswald.” Ed touches his chest in faux scandalisation. “If you wanted to try out something like that all you’d have to do is ask.”

Oswald sighs at his childishness and rests his head on his hand impatiently, but Ed couldn’t have resisted a set up like that.

“Can you really turn down that kind of money, Oswald? Massive, unassailable, untouchable amounts of money.” Ed can’t help but be tempted by it too - the scale of his schemes could be endless, he could use the whole city as a playground. 

“You know I’ve been more than impressed with you Ed. More than impressed… I’ve been quite, _proud_ , in fact.” He looks at his fingers when he says it, like he feels silly to say it out loud. 

Ed’s chest swells at the praise. He’s not sure anyone’s actually said that to him before.

“But have you heard the story of Icarus? Flying too close to the sun and all? I have a lot of faith in you, but I have no interest in getting my wings melted.” 

“I feel like if _you_ were in Icarus’ position you would have been able to figure away out of it. Catch yourself on something before falling into the sea.” Ed says, because it’s true.

Oswald scoffs and shakes his head, but Ed can see a fresh flush on his defined cheekbones. 

“Wouldn’t you like to see me in action first hand?” He leans down beside Oswald chair and talks near his ear. “I get to see _you_ at work all the time.”

Oswald’s tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip a second. “Hm, I know you like that.” And when his voice takes on that low tone Ed feels it roll through him. 

“I do.” Ed smiles. 

_‘Especially when someone makes him use that trick-cane. He can be very agile.’_

“I think you’d like it too. We make a good team.” 

“Dynamic.” Oswald agrees.

“Unstoppable.” Ed counters, and Oswald’s bright eyes meet his. 

They’ve both perfected the art of riling the other up. He can see the spark in his lover’s face, and he knows he’s succeeded in drawing him in. 

It’s why they’re together after all, their unmatched ability to stir the other into action and boldness.

“Alright, show me the plans today and we’ll decide who’s best for the job.” He says and Ed grins wider. 

“At home?” He says without thinking, and then immediately feels a little unsure with himself.

Ed’s been careful in the past to say ‘the mansion’ or ‘your house’ even though it’s a silly thing - the semantics of it all - he _lives_ there, he never sleeps anywhere else but beside Oswald these days and yet he worries about turning him off by being too…

_‘Ed-like?’_

Committed.

Oswald and Ed just _are_ , people suspect they’re together, neither are the best at being subtle in that regard and he hears the rumours, but they don’t _know_ for a fact how they define their relationship because Ed doesn’t really know either. They live, essentially, as a couple, but the secrecy of it means they’ve never really had to discuss the terms, as it were.

They share a bed, they fuck, regularly, and Ed knows unequivocally that he has never loved anyone like he loves him, and that’s that.

But still, these little things, the difference between: ‘the house’ and ‘our home.’ 

“No.” Oswald says, and Ed thinks he might be slightly avoiding his eye. 

_‘Damn, he did notice.’_

“Let’s use one of the conference rooms here, I don’t want to be too far from the office for the next few days.” 

Ed nods and swallows; he doesn’t get this insecure feeling very much anymore. 

“I wouldn’t mind having dinner at home though,” Oswald says, and he’s rearranging papers on his desk, not looking a him. “You haven’t cooked for me in a while.” And Ed can see the small smile playing on his lips though his chin is still turned down.

“I’ll find nice recipe for carbonara.”

 

***********************

They stand around the large conference table, the map of the bank is spread across the surface, overlaid with Ed’s transparent plastic sheet, covered in pen plotting out their routes and plans. Zsasz and Fries are present too, along with a couple of Oswald’s more capable lackeys.

“Shoot them in the head.” Zsasz says with an understanding nod, as they discuss how to deal with the remaining guards.

“Not what I was thinking.” Ed says, hat on his head, deep green suit in place. Oswald’s coming round to it more and more, and there’s no doubting the allure of his ability to command a room when he is in ‘Riddler’ mode.

“Too loud.” Oswald shakes his head. “We should just slit their throats.” He looks over the plans.  


“That’s one way to go, but I was thinking sleep darts.” Ed says. 

_‘Again with the sleep darts.’_

Oswald suppresses his eye-roll, they’d fought a couple of weeks ago about him scoffing at Ed’s plans and he’d promised to try. A suppressed eye-roll is at least improvement, even though he’s sure Ed probably senses it. 

“I think it’s best to avoid killing if at all possible, that way should any of the more disposable members of the team happen to get caught they won’t go down for murder.” Ed gestures to the large men at the other side of the room who are around more to ferry the loot into the truck more than anything else.

They are unfazed by the suggestion, all they really need know is who to whack over the head and where to drive. Oswald has a thousand of them at his disposal.

“Fine, sleep darts it is.” Oswald relents. “But I want Victor on hand anyway, the GCPD can figure out how to thaw out any guards.” He gestures to their white-haired, almost blue friend at the other side of the room. 

“Long as I get a decent cut.” He says, arms crossed and leaning on the wall at the back of the room. Not a man of many words, but indispensable over the past months, as disconcerting as Oswald might find his flat demeanour and unusual eyes.

“Of course, Victor. We’ll be making enough for you to fund a lab three times over.” Oswald says. 

“That’s good news.” He sends Oswald an almost imperceptible smile that he returns, and he hears Ed clear his throat and lean down over the table, looking at the plans, long fingers spread across the map. 

“I could suggest to you a few locations that would work for your research. I know labs quite well.” If Oswald’s not mistaken, his tone is a bit clipped. 

_‘Green is a good colour on him in more ways than one, isn’t it?’_

“Appreciate it, Riddler.”

Oswald knows Ed will have liked that, though, can’t really help a tight smile and being called his other name without having to push it. Oswald still doesn’t say it much, he can’t help but find it a little ridiculous, though he won’t say that out loud. 

Well, Ed _has_ managed to get him to say it a couple of occasions, he can get him to say almost anything when there’s an orgasm at stake, honestly. 

_“Unh -for christ’s sake -_ **_Riddler_ ** _\- please.”_

_“Say it again.”_

_“Fuck - fuck me Riddler, fuck me Riddler, fuck me, fuck me.”_

He clears his throat and brings himself back into the room. He almost wants to ask Ed to roll his sleeves down, his slender forearms and the tendons moving in them are distracting him. If everyone would just leave he could knock that hat off his head and lick a stripe up that line of cheekbone that has been vexing him all morning.

When both are sure that they crew understand the plan, he dismisses them, feeling a little buzz of excitement in his stomach. Being at the top and creating the Iceberg Lounge has been fun, but perhaps a little too comfortable. Plotting these schemes first hand reminds him how it had been when he first started, a nice jolt to the nerves.

“I have to say I feel quite energised.” Oswald says, feeling a slight twinge in his leg and the desire to sit down. 

He takes his cane and makes his way to the chair when he feels a sharp pain run from his knee to his foot, and then an entirely unfamiliar numbness. His stomach drops at the sensation, he doesn’t have time to process it. 

“It’s perfect, as long as everyone does their jobs nothing will-“ 

“Ah! _Shit_.” His leg entirely gives out, his cane clatters to the ground and he falls into the chair, torso landing clumsily against the seat.

“ _Oswald?_ ” Ed rushes over to his side, and though the feeling comes back into his leg, he feels fear and embarrassment wash through his stomach.

He _fell_ , there had been no stopping it. His other knee hurts where it smashed against the ground.

“I’m fine.” He almost wants to smack Ed’s hands away as he helps him get back to his feet and seated on the chair, feels his face flushed hot. “I just - I tripped.”

When he glances at Ed, who is crouched in front of him, he has to look away from that expression of concern on his face, it makes him feel pathetic. His leg causes him pain all the time, but completely giving out is new. His heart is beating quite hard from the shock of the fall.

“Come on, we’ll go home and I’m calling the doctor.” Ed stands upright, collecting their coats.  
  
“And have him say what? ‘Yes, your leg is still _fucked_.’ No need, I am quite aware.” He feels himself being snippy but can’t help it. “I’ve just been standing for too long today, that’s it.”

“You might need physical therapy, or a brace.” Oswald doesn’t let Ed help him when he stands and takes his coat. 

“If I have to limp my way around the city I’m not going to _squeak_ as well.” He puts it on quickly, his leg is aching like it often does, but it feels sturdy again. It had felt sturdy before. 

_'What if that happened in front of everyone? What if it happened in the middle of the club on a Saturday night? They’d all laugh, they’d let me flounder on the ground.'_

He swallows, feeling a little nauseous. He just wants to go home.

“You don’t know it will be that kind of brace.” Ed follows him out of the conference room, hovering close to his side but not taking his arm like Oswald knows he wants to. 

“Just drop it, Ed, I don’t need anymore reasons for people to find me entirely physically unimposing.” Oswald is walking too fast; he needs to prove that he’s fine. 

They step out into the cold air, and Oswald is glad for it, taking in a lungful of the fresh breeze and enjoying it against his warm face. The car is waiting to take him somewhere more comfortable, and he’s glad for it. 

“Oswald, you could be walking around blind in one eye with an arm missing and people would still find you imposing.” He can hear the smile in Ed’s voice, and lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

He’s good at that, making him feel a bit better. Oswald looks up at him and feels somewhat comforted by the warm expression he finds there. 

“You’re not letting yourself be in pain for the sake of vanity.” Ed says, and Oswald lets out a sigh and slips into the back of his car.

“I am _not_ vain.” He says as he gets in.

“Oh, please.” It’s Ed’s turn to roll his eyes as he rounds the car to get in the other side. 

“The penthouse.” Oswald says to the driver, and Ed looks at him questioningly. “I don’t feel like the drive back to the mansion and they won’t deliver the good Chinese all the way out there.”

_‘All I need is rest in my own space, there’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need any help.’_

The city apartment is grand, Oswald made sure of that when he bought it, and it’s incredibly secure. Ed’s quiet in the elevator up to the top floor and Oswald can feel that he’s on the edge of telling him how important it is he sees a doctor. He chooses just not to meet his eye instead, and lets out a sigh of relief when they’re finally inside.

He takes off his coat and Ed hangs it up for him, a reflex at this point, a remnant from when they’d began as Mayor and Chief of Staff.

Soon, Oswald is sitting on the window seat, while Ed changes. His leg elevated and outstretched, the other hanging off, toes not quite reaching the ground. 

It’s his favourite spot, looking out over that broken skyline of the city he knows so well - the sky grey and dingy. He wonders briefly if there’s another him down there, scrapping for a piece of the city with those bigger and more powerful, but he knows that’s unlikely. Another in his position wouldn’t have been able to talk their way off that pier alive (either time) or get out of the trunk of Maroni’s car, or leave Arkham and regain their mind.

Why anyone thinks they should try and bring him down is beyond him. No one has made the city their own more than him, and when he’s even richer, more powerful, anyone who bothers to try will find themselves smashed to bits against steel hull of his power. 

_‘I’ve never needed to be in full health to be powerful.’_

Ed sits down beside him, lays the hot bag of lavender wheat over his leg, and Oswald feels the warmth spread through right away with a breath of some relief. 

And at least with Ed, he can actually _enjoy_ the fruits of his labour, he doesn’t have to come home alone and wake up that way.

He often wonders if Ed asked him to leave, to run away to the country and live off the land like some sort of romantic hero, never to be seen again, what he would say. Really, he’ll do anything for him if he asks him to.

_‘Yes, as long as he’s the one chopping the firewood and I’m the one in the cottage eating fresh bread and drinking wine. Maybe a dog.’_

“I’m running a bath.” Ed says, drawing up one of his long legs. “And I have some strong painkillers.”

“Thank you.” Oswald takes the pills from his hand and swallows them both in one. He can see a bit of what looks like pity in his face, and he feels that creeping discomfort in his stomach return. “But you don’t have to…”

“To what?” God, Ed looks just like when he first met him: sweet, concerned, exactly unlike the image he projects to the outside world now. It makes his chest hurt, but it also makes him feel quite pathetic. 

So he snaps at him, he doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop it leaving his mouth sometimes when he feels that shot of irritation up his neck.  
  
“I’m not a child, Ed.”

And Ed’s smile turns to a hard line, now annoyed himself and clearly quite hurt. Embarrassment and guilt mix into a sickness in his gut now. 

_‘Of course he’s hurt, he’s trying to be nice.’_

“I know that. I never said you were.” His arms cross. 

“Well, I can’t take care of myself, okay? I’m not completely crippled.” He hears his voice waver when he says it. Because that’s the fear, being completely crippled, completely useless to everyone and to Ed.

“No, but you are incredibly over-defensive.” Ed stands to his full height and starts to cross the large, open living room.

Oswald should just grab for him and apologise now, he knows it. 

“Excuse me?” He knows he shouldn’t be doubling down but he’d rather they have a fight than see Ed leave the room.   
  
“I’m not trying to make you feel incapable, Oswald, I’m helping you, it’s what people who live together _do_.” He says firmly. “It’s what people who love each other do.”

His stomach flips over, and suddenly he is back on that chaise lounge in the mansion parlour, watching Ed, with that nasty scar round his neck, beam at him and tell him he would do anything for him. The surprise at hearing it must have crossed his face because Ed makes a face of vague impatience.

“That can’t possibly surprise you, I’ve said it many times.” 

“Not - only when -“ He clears his throat and gathers himself. “You’ve never said it when you have the _clearest head_ , shall we say?”

Ed swallows, because he knows he is right. 

“Saying it to people never exactly goes well for me.” The tone of his voice is quiet, and he rubs his fingertips together at his sides and looks at the ground when he says it.

Oh, Oswald can very much relate to that. 

“Me neither.” He says, and sees a guilty look pass Ed’s face that brings him no pleasure.

There is a long, quiet pause where both don’t really know what to say, the tension has snapped and they’re just left with the reality of Ed’s confession, hanging in the air between them. Oswald’s heart is racing a little bit.

_‘He loves me. He loves me.’_

“Would you come here?” Oswald finally says, impatiently, reaches out his hand so Ed will walk back over to him, and tugs on his wrist so he sits beside him again when he does.

Oswald gently keeps his hold on Ed’s wrist. “I’m sorry.” He looks out of the window as he says it, and says it quickly. It’s not something he has to do much any more, apologise. “I know you love me Ed, and you know I love you too.”

“Do I know that?” Oswald looks at him and sees the small amused smile on his lips, but the hopefulness dancing in his eyes. He doesn’t know how it could ever been in question - he’d as good as died for him. 

“I hope so.” He smiles a little too and looks down at Ed’s long fingers as he takes his hand.

“I know you do.”

In the end, Oswald still refuses to take the bath, he wants to feel like he’s looking after Ed for a change, so insists he undress and sink into the steaming scented water himself. Oswald rolls his sleeves up and pulls up a stool beside the clawfoot tub, soaps up a sponge and runs it across his chest and shoulders.

Oswald might get in with him in a moment, in fact, the cloudy, lavender scented water is hard to resist. Steam fills the bathroom, and he enjoys the scent and how it soothes his senses. This is one of those intimacies that was the oddest and most important to him to share with Ed - just to be vulnerable and naked and at peace with another person makes him realise why it's important he tries to stop being so damn snippy with him. He never wants to lose this: shared, domestic peace. 

He’s had to take of his glasses from the steam, and Oswald’s spreads a little water across his strong brow to wet his face. 

“It quite sickens me how beautiful you are, you know?” 

Ed chuckles but keeps his eyes closed and allows Oswald to continue his attentions across his skin.

Oswald's hands are only ever warm when they’re soaked in the hot water for a while, he doesn’t know why it is, he has always just run cold.

It makes him think of the last time his mother had done this for him. Really, in hindsight, it had been odd, too personal for a man his age, but it was all she knew how to do, to comfort him, to make him feel loved in any way she could. She never saw him as anything other than her bullied little boy, even when he had been out killing and extorting, even when she _knew_ he wasn’t a good person. 

He misses her still, desperately, but the pain is not as keen as it had once been. 

“You look pensive.” Ed says quietly, and only then does Oswald realise he’s looking at him.

He clears his throat and watches water trickle down Ed’s chest.

“When I had to run away from Gotham for while, back when Jim Gordon was supposed to kill me and didn’t. Everyone thought I was dead.” He says. “No one looked for me, no one cared but my mother. I didn’t have _one_ friend in this world.”

Ed rests his hand on Oswald’s wrist.

“It’s alright, I’m not upset, I’m just thinking.” He breathes out a sigh. It feels so long ago, he feels like a different person now, he _is_ a different person now.  


“What about?” Ed asks gently. 

“How strange it feels to have someone who would look for me.” Oswald wonders if he will ever be able to shake this emotionality from himself, he’s too quick to well up and feel a lump in his throat, but he does.

He thinks he's starting to understand why Ed feels like he has to protect him, because Oswald feels the same; they share each other’s pain now, they both have someone who’ll come and find them. That’s what is making him feel like he’s about to cry, but he bites it back, rests his cheek on the side of the tub and draws slow circles on Ed's chest with the sponge. As long as he can, he'll luxuriate in this room where there are no responsibilities and they have no names but Ed Nygma and Oswald Cobblepot. 

Ed won’t call the doctor today, he knows Oswald will just send him away in the mood he’s in, but he will be calling in the morning, and Oswald will let him.

 

***********************

 

Getting past bank security so they can just walk through a path of unconscious guards and deactivated security cameras is more satisfying than solving any puzzle he had ever been presented with, Ed realises. It didn’t require a simple logic grid, he had to take everything into account, he had to make sure there was no detail missed.

So he’s excited as they wait in the vault, and Fries gets to work on freezing the bars of the thick titanium gate that protects the most valuable loot: millions of dollars worth of property deeds. The lackeys load the truck with cash and bullion and he can’t fight the grin on his face as he rests on the wall and waits.

Oswald leans on his cane, looking impatient. They are about to become even more disgustingly rich and he can only look _impatient_. 

Shoulders drawn up, mouth set in a tight line, hair in a swoop at the back and held fast with spray and gel; he looks stiff, it’s the only way some people get to see him. 

He never met her, but he’d heard stories, and he wonders if he learnt some of it from Fish Mooney, being at once small and pretty, but intimidating, and with an air of the arcane. Ed knows him well enough to see when he’s coiled up in excitement as well, it’s gone so well, _exactly_ as he thought it would.

When Oswald glances at him, he sees his eyes twinkle and he wets his lips; he doesn’t look at anyone else like that. 

Oswald styles himself like he’s warning people to stay away: black and spiky, poisonous, choking ink - and Ed finds that this is what he’s so attracted to. He has an immunity, he’s the only one that can drink from his well and survive. It’s intoxicating, but it nourishes him, it doesn’t leave him suffocating on the ground like it does everyone else.

As the men come back and forth to the trucks, they follow Oswald’s orders to the letter. It’s attractive, watching him command, and Ed is starting to feel impatient too, to get home and celebrate their victory _with gusto._

_‘Getting ahead of myself, it isn’t over until we get those deeds.’_

“Last truck is almost full, Mr Penguin.” One of the men says, sweating from the effort. 

“Very good. Victor! Where are we with this?” He asks over the noise of the cryo gun. 

“Five minutes.” Fries responds, face imperceptible behind those goggles and mouth set in that permanent, serious line. 

_‘He’s quite handsome, I’m sure Oswald’s noticed. But I’m not going to ask, don’t really want to know if he thinks he’s good looking.’_

Oswald is watching Fries work, speaking quietly to Zsasz, and Ed feels the urge to get him alone for a moment. Its not really jealousy, but it might be a bit of possessiveness. He’s stimulated, Oswald looks too good to not be enjoyed for a second.

Sidling up to Oswald, he leans down to murmur. “Can I have a word with you in private?” 

Oswald looks up at him questioningly but seems to understand when he meets his eye, he excuses himself from Zsasz, who nods in stoic understanding and Oswald follows Ed out of the vault and into a quiet, dim hallway.

“We’re good at this, aren’t we?” He says quietly, walking close behind him. 

“Incredibly.” Oswald turns on his heel and kisses him deeply, leans up against him and presses him to the wall at his back. “Your mind never ceases to amaze me.”

“I like seeing you like this. You’re excited, I can tell.” Ed feels his body buzzing as Oswald presses his body tight against his and kisses him hot and wet. 

“Thanks to you… And the smell of that money.” Oswald knocks Ed’s hat off his head and lets it tumble to the ground - he takes any opportunity to do that - and keens when Ed reaches up under his coat to grab his ass and pull him tighter.  
  
“Enough to buy you your city.” Ed murmurs against his mouth.

“Our city.” Oswald counters, pressing little kisses down his jaw.

What they’re actually going for Ed doesn’t know, they don’t have time for much, only to enjoy this heat for a moment even if they’re going to be forced to break off soon. 

“There can only be one emperor.” Ed points out, eyes rolling back when he feels teeth lightly scrape his throat.

“What would that make you?” Oswald’s hot breath fans his skin. 

“Anything you want me to be.” It’s a confession when it slips out his mouth, he’ll still do anything he wants. Oswald is on tiptoes for his teeth to lightly tease his ear lobe, and he feels the beginning of an erection press against his own, back bent down to accept Oswald’s affection.

Ed’s back slides down the wall enough so Oswald can get a hold of his thigh and bring it up to his waist. 

“Right now all I want you to be is on all fours in our bed.” He grinds against him and Ed moans in his throat at the friction. This is too much. 

“Always with the ‘ _ours’_ and _‘us.’_ ” He says lightly, like it doesn’t mean everything to him to hear it.

He feels his smile, and then they’re connected at the mouth again, sharing hot kisses and panted breaths that sound louder in the quiet, empty hallway. The faint sound of the cryo gun still hums, they’re really far too close to the crew to be doing this. 

“We don’t have time for this.” Ed says, eyes glazed. “I shouldn’t have started-“

Oswald’s tongue sinks into his mouth as his hand cups his cock firmly through his trousers, and Ed breaks off with a muffled moan.

_‘Not shy anymore.’_

All Ed’s weak protests fade to nothing, the heist he’d been planning for months that was nearly over is a distant echo in the back of his mind as he begins to try to figure out how long they’ve been in this hallway and if they have time to get each other off before-

“Boss, Freeze is almost done the bars will smash to - oh _shit_ …”

It feels as if ice water has been poured down his spine, and they promptly break apart like startled teenagers. 

Zsasz is frozen for a second in the dim hallway a few feet away, as Oswald pulls his coat straight and clears his throat, tries to rearrange his flushed face into a look of stony irritation. Ed isn’t sure what he’s doing, other than standing with his hands held up in front of him and his mouth open like an idiot.

There is no mistaking what they had been doing, Oswald’s hand had been on his cock for god’s sake.

“I didn’t see anything, boss.” And Zsasz turns on his heel and leaves quickly. 

Ed straightens his glasses on his nose and feels oddly embarrassed, the wind rather taken out of his excitement.

_‘Oswald will not like anybody having seen him in that state.’_

“Apologies, Oswald, I know we should keep it professional at work.” He adjusts his jacket front and almost doesn’t want to look up at him to see if that look of lust has turned to annoyance at him.

“Apologies for what?” Vague amusement dances in Oswald’s bright eyes when he meets them. “I hope you don’t think I care that Zsasz caught us. Of course, it wasn’t the most _dignified_ way for an underling to see me, but I’m not embarrassed, Ed, are you?”

He is struck with genuine surprise. Image is _everything_ to Oswald.

“What if he tells people?” He says, like it’s obvious.

“Victor is a consummate professional.” He waves him off and touches his hair to check it hasn’t been mussed. “And truly, I wouldn’t care if he did.”

Oswald picks up his hat for him and Ed takes it, cannot believe how blasé Oswald is being.

“People would try to use our relationship against us if they knew.” He says. “Zsasz might not tell, but if it had been someone else…”

“Yes, indeed, they would _try_ to use it against us _._ ” Oswald picks up his discarded cane and leans his weight on it. “But to them I’m the Penguin, and you’re the Riddler, and no one has achieved what we have. Separately and together. Personally, I could not give a fuck what anyone _tries_ to do to us.”

A smile spreads onto Ed’s lips. Oswald never fails to surprise him, of course, this should be no different. The man makes him feel like he’s standing on the edge of something, like he’s about to get ready to jump into a vast, electrifying unknown. He thinks he'll always be happy to jump, head first, right into those inky depths. 

Ed puts his hat on and gestures his hand down the hall back to the vault.

“Shall we get to work, Oswald?” 

“Yes, Ed.” The click of his cane echoes down the hall. “Let's.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this last part, like I said, I'd love to make this divergent timeline a bit of a series, maybe with the odd oneshot here and there. As you can tell, I like the idea of everything being different if they never have that feud, just super into each other and stronger together. 
> 
> Please get in touch with me at everyonehasacobblepot.tumblr.com - by far the best thing about this story has been interacting with you guys who just GET what I was going for. (If some of y'all do follow me, I'd be willing to start doing prompts and whatnot). 
> 
> I've loved writing this and very much appreciate all the comments and kudos. See you soon! x


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